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AUTHOR: 


WALFORD,  EDWARD 


TITLE: 


JUVENAL 


PLACE: 


PHILADELPHIA 


DA  TE : 


1872 


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Vvalford,   Edvmrd,    18*^3-18y7. 

Juvenal.  Philadelphia,  J.  B.  Lippincott  & 
CO.,  1872. 

169  p.   iilncient  classics  for  Enrlish  readers, 
ed.  by  Yi.  L.  Collins,  vol.  xiiis 


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Columbia  (Bnitif  r^sttp 
mt^fCitpofBraigdrk 

THE  LIBRARIES 


Ancient  Classics  for  English  Readers 

EDITED  BY  THE 

REV.  W.  LUCAS  COLLINS.  M.A. 


JUVENAL 


) 


The  Volumes  published  of  this  Series  contain 

HOMER :  THE   ILIAD,  by  the  Editor. 
HOMER :  THE  ODYSSEY,  by  the  Same. 
HERODOTUS,  by  George  C.  Swayne,  M.A. 
CiESAR,  BY  Anthony  Trollope. 
VIRGIL,  BY  the  Editor. 

HORACE,  BY  Theodore  Martin. 

iESCHYLUS,  BY  Reginald  S.  Copleston,  M.A. 

XENOPHON,  BY  Sir  Alex.  Grant,  Bart.,  LL.D. 

CICERO,  BY  the  Editor. 

SOPHOCLES,  BY  Clifton  W.  Collins,  M.A. 

PLINY,    BY    A.    Church,    M.A.,    and   W.    J. 
Brodribb,  M.A. 

EURIPIDES,  BY  William  Bodham  Donne. 

The  following  Authors,  by  various  Contributors,  are 

in  preparation  : — 

ARISTOPHANES. 

HESIOD. 

PLAUTUS. 

TERENCE. 

TACITUS. 

LUCIAN. 

Others  will  follow. 

A   Volume  will  be  published  Quarterly,  price  $i.oo 


JUVENAL 


BY 


EDWARD   WALFORD,    M.A. 


LATE  SCHOLAR  OF  BALLIOL  COLL.,  OXFORD;  AUTHOR  OF 
"the  HANDBOOK  OF  THE  GREEK  DRAMA,"  ETC. 


PHILADELPHIA 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  &  CO. 

«     -     t     c  •       • 


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CONTENTS. 


^ 


*■''      f         M  l,,„jf      /*      t 


0.U 
\ 


<"ITAP.      I.  LIFE   OF  JUVENAL,  •  •  .  . 

•»  II.  SATIIIKS   AND   SATIRISTS,          .           ,           . 

n  III.  HORACE   AND  JUVENAL,            •           ,           . 

II  IV.  MORALS  AT   ROME,            .... 

M  V.  PHILOSOPHV   AND   RELIGION  AT  ROME, 

II  VI.  LITERATURE   AT  ROME, 

f  VIT.  WOMEN    AT   ROME,            .... 

••  VIII.  TOWN-LIFE   AT   ROME,     .... 

II  IX.  JUVENAL  AND  HIS  MODERN  IMITATORS, 


PAOB 
1 

17 
41 

65 

79 

95 

108 

132 

150 


/ 


c     «    .    •     •       « 


I      • 


.....    . 

•      .    •  •     «   t 

.    .      «    •     I    «    « 


JUVENAL- 


CHAPTER  r. 


LIFE    OF    JUVENAL, 

If  the  saying  be  true,  tliat  the  greater  the  poet  is,  the 
less  are  we  likely  to  know  of  him  from  his  own  writ- 
ings, Juvenal  ought  certainly  to  occupy  a  very  high 
place  among  the  poete  of  Kome.  In  this  respect  he  offers 
a  most  complete  contrast  to  Horace,  who  has  left  us 
m  his  various  poems  an  account  of  himself— his  char- 
acter, habits,  and  pursuits,  his  successes  and  his  fail- 
ures—almost as  complete  as,  and  far  more  instructive 
than,  many  a  professed  biography.     Juvenal,  on  the 
other  hand,  never  allows  the  personality  of  the  poet 
to  obtrude  itself  in  any  way  on  the  reader's  notice. 
In  reading  Horace,  we  can  never  lose  sight  of  the 
cultivated,  genial  man  of  the  world,  who  indeed  makes 
his  puppets  play  before  us,  but  aUows  them  to  speak 
only  with  his  own  voice,  to  utter  his  own  words.     In 
Juvenal,  the  subject  entirely  overshadows  the  iden- 
A-  a  vol  xiiL 

A 


2  JUVENAL. 

tity  of  the  poet ;  we  read  him,  but  we  no  more  think 
of  the  writer  as  we  read,  than  we  should  allow  a 
vision  of  the  blind  old  bard  to  roam  on  the  plain  of 
the  Scamander,  and  preside  at  the  death  of  Hector  or 
at  the  games  around  the  tomb  of  Patroclus. 

All  that  we  know  of  Juvenal,  beyond  those  allusions 
to  himself,  or  to  contemporary  history,  which  may  be 
found  scattered  up  and  down  throughout  his  writmgs, 
is  contained  in  the  volume  of  memoirs  attributed  to 
Suetonius.     The  sum  and  substance  of  what  we  read 

in  his  pages  is  as  follows  :— 

"  Junius  Juvenalis,  the  son  or  the  alumnus  (it  is 
uncertain  which)  of  a  rich  freedman,  practised  de- 
clamation till  near  middle  life,  more  for  amusement 
than  by  way  of  preparing  himself  for  school  or  forum. 
Afterwards,  having  written  a  clever  Satire  of  a  few 
verses  on  Paris  the  pantomime,  and  a  poet  of  his  time, 
who   was   puffed    up   with   his   paltry   six    months- 
military  rank,  he  took  pains  to  perfect  himself  in  this 
kind  of  writing.     And  yet  for  a  very  long  time  he  did 
not  venture  to  trust  anything  even  to  a  small  audi- 
ence.   But  after  a  while  he  was  heard  by  great  crowds, 
iind  with  great  success,  several  times  ;  so  that  he  was 
led  to  insert  in  his  first  writings  those  verses  which  he 
li;id  written  first :    ■ 

'What !  will  you  still  on  Camerimis  wait, 
And  Bareas  ?  will  you  still  frequent  the  great  t 
Ah  !  rather  to  the  player  your  labours  take,    ^ 
And  at  one  lucky  stroke  your  fortunes  make ! 

— Sat.  VII.  90. 

"  The  player  was  at  that  time  one  of  the  favourites 


LIFE  OF  JUVENAL.  o 

at  court,  and  many  of  his  siipporters  were  daily  pro- 
moted.    Juvenal,  therefore,  fell  under  suspicion  as  one 
who  had  covertly  censured  the  times ;  and  forthwith 
under  colour  of  mQitary  promotion,  though  he  was 
eighty  years  of  age,  he  was  removed  from  the  city 
and  sent  to   take  command  of  a  cohort  which  was 
stationed  m  the  furthest  part  of  Egypt.     That  sort  of 
punishment  was  determined  upon  as  being  suited  to  a 
.gh    and  jocular  offence.     Within  a  very  short  time 
iie  died  of  vexation  and  disgust." 

i;ins   notice,   meagre  as   it  is'  and   probably  not 
original,  is  yet  more  authentic  and  fuller  than  any 
other  account  we  can  find  in  the  literature  of  the 
period.     The  facts  which  can  be  gleaned  and  the  in- 
ferences  which  can  be  drawn  from  Juvenal's  writin.-s 
with  regard  to  his  pergonal  career,  are  if  possible  more 
scanty  and  less  to  be  depended  upon.     To  such  an 
extent  is  this  the  case,  that  even  such  questions  as 
whe  her  the  poet  ever  visited  Egypt,  and  if  so.  at 
what  period  of  his  lifetime,  and  in  what  capacity,  are 
left  in  complete  uncertainty.     The  dates  of  his  birth 
and  of  his  death  are  alike  disputed;  events  to  which 
he   IS   supposed  to  allude  are   ascribed   by  different 
author.  Mes  to  the  reigns  of  the  difi-erent  Emperors  iron. 
^ero  CO  Trajan;  and  the  very  text  of  the  author  has 
been  interpolated  and  revised  to  suit  one  or  other  of 
he  views  from  time  to  time  in  vogue  to  such  an  ex- 
tent that  the  authenticity  of  well-nigh  half  the  work 
has  been  disputed  by  gome  one  commentator  or  more 

The  upshot  of  all  this  is,  that  the  only  facts  with 
regard  to  Juvenal  on  which  we  can  implicitly  rely  are 


A  JVVSNAL. 

that  he  flourished  towamls  the  close  of  the  tot  cen- 
tury ;  that  Aquinum,  if  not  the  place  of  his  nativity 
^vas  at  least  his  chosen  residence  ;  and  that  he  is  an  all 
probahility  the  friend  .vhoni  Martial  addresses  in  three 

'^TheTis,  however,  a  far  more  interesting  question,  to 
which  we  may  yet  be  enabled  to  give  an  answer  by  a 
careful  study  of  the  Satires  of  Juvenal  and  that  con- 
sists in  the  consideration  of  the  gradual  development 
of  the  high  moral  qualities  with  which  our  poet  was 
endowed.  We  have  elsewhere  endeavoured  to  point  out 
how  we  may  trace  the  fierce  and  almost  truculent  satire 
of  his  youth  graduaUy  softening  down  to  the  gentler 
temper  of  his  mature  years.     In  these  he  is  not  indeed 
blind  to  the  vices  of  mankind;  but,  taking  a  larger 
and  more  philosophic  view  of  human  life,  he  is  more 
anxious  to  point   out  how  those  vices   may  be  re- 
medied, by  an  eaniest  pursuit  after  virtue ;  and  how 
God  seldom  fails  in  the  end  to  reward  the  good  for 
their  righteous  dealings,  and  to  punish  the  wicked  for 
their  sins. 
"Thouc-h  the  mills  of  God  grind  slowly,  yet  they  grind 

Tho^i^SKuS  Je  He  stands  waiting,  with  exactness 
grinds  He  all." 
We  can  also  see  how  his  whole  life  was  one  con- 

tiuued  protest  against  the  ----^^^^^^V/^/^^ 
and  especially  of  Grecian  customs ;  agamst  the  influx 
of  thoL  wealthy  hut  low-horn,  low-hred  foreigners 
who  hy  dint  of  their  huge  fortunes,  and  supported  by 


LIF/S  OF  JUVENAL.      *  5 

court  favour,  were  successfully  disputing  with  the 
ancient  Roman  families  the  few  privileges  which  were 
still  left  them.  *'  Must  I,"  he  exclaims  with  indignant 
scorn, 

"  Let  him  seat  first,  and  on  the  chief  couch  lie 
At  feasts,  whom  to  our  Rome  the  same  wind  brou^'ht 
That  brought  us  figs  and  prunes  ?  goes  it  for  nou4t 
That  we  Aventine  air  first  breathed,  and,  bred      '^ 
In  Rome,  were  with  the  Sabine  olive  fed  ? 

—Sat.  iii.  81. 
Yet  even  in  this  respect,  there  is  a  material  change 
in  the  tone  which  he  adopts  in  his  more  advanced 
age.    The  diatribes  against  foreigners  are  less  frequent, 
and  their  place  is  taken  by  earnest  and  lofty  moral 
precepts,  weighty  alike  with  the  experience  of  a  long 
life,  and  with  the  disinterested  zeal  of  a  philanthropist 
and  philosopher.     Of  his  aesthetic  tastes,  though  little 
disposed    to   speak    much   of    himself,    Juvenal  has 
allowed  pretty  frequent  traces  to  appear  in  his  writ- 
ings.    From  these  we  may  gather  that   he   had,  in 
greater  measure   than   most   Romans,  a  love  of  the 
country,  a  *'  romantic  "  sympathy  with  and  longing  for 
nature  and  the  picturesque,  which  we  may  add  to°the 
other  hints  we  find  in  his  works  of  tastes  and  feelings 
that  are  generally  considered  to  be  distinctive  marks 
of  a  modern  as  opposed  to  a  classical  tone  of  thought  : 
traces  of  a  love  of  country  scenery  and  quietude"  for 
its  own  sake,  and  not  only  as  a  refuge  from  the  turmoil 
and  vices  of  an  overgrown  capital.     It  is  with  heart- 
felt joy,  then,  that  Juvenal  shakes  the  dust  of  Rome 
from  off  his  feet,  and  escapes  from  the  profligacy  and 


0  JUVENAL. 

liollowness  of  the  imperial  city,  in  which  even  the 
iace  of  nature  cannot  avoid  the  sophisticating  touch  of 
an  artificial  aistheticism.  A  notable  example  of  this 
fact  we  have  at  the  very  gates  of  Kome  : — 

"  Here  we  view 
The  Egerian  grots— ah,  how  unlike  the  true  ! 
Nymph  of  the  spring,  more  honoured  hadst  thou  heen 
If,  free  from  art,  an  edge  of  living  green 
Thy  huhbling  fount  had  circumscribed  alone, 
And  marble  ne'er  profaned  the  native  stone." 

—Ibid.,  17. 

Far  better  than  all  this  parade,  in  the  poet's  eyes,  is 
the  beauty  of  simple  Gabii  :— 

«  Bleak  Praeneste's  seat, 
Volsinium's  craggy  heights,  embowered  in  wood, 
Or  Tibur,  beetling  o'er  prone  Anio's  flood  !" 

— IbiJ.,  191. 

There  the  true  f\irmer's  life  may  yet  be  enjoyed  by  the 
husbandman ;  blessed,  indeed,  if  he  only  had  eyes  to 
see  the  real  happiness  of  his  lot ! 

"  There  wells  by  nature  formed,  which  need  no  rope, 
No  labouring  arm,  to  crane  their  waters  up, 
Around  your  lawn  their  facile  streams  shall  shower. 
And  cheer  the  springing  plant  and  opening  flower. 
There  live  delighted  with  the  rustic's  lot, 
And  till  with  your  own  hands  the  little  spot— 
The  little  spot  which  yields  you  large  amends, 
And  "lad  with  many  a  feast  your  Samian  friends." 
°  ^  —Ibid.,  226. 

To  such  a  quiet  home  as  this  Juvenal  would  gladly 
retire  with  a  friend  of  congenial  tastes,  and  recall  for  a 
short  space  the  mode  of  life  that  once  was  led  by  all 


LIFE  OF  JUVENAL. 


the  citizens  of  Kome.  Let  us  then  accompany  Persicus 
as  he  goes  to  accept  the  poet's  invitation,  and  with  him 
make  our  way  from  the  din  of  the  Suburra  to  the  quiet 
country  homestead,  hidden  behind  the  oak-clad  hiUs  of 
Latium.  The  bridges  over  the  Tiber,  with  their  throng 
of  beggars,  seated  each  on  his  woven  mat  of  rushes,  is 
left  behind ;  the  roar  of  the  street  traffic,  the  hoarse 
voices  of  the  drovers  and  waggoners,  the  hum  of  the 
circus  and  of  the  crowded  theatre,  grow  indistinct;  and 
we  no  longer  hear  the  pmncing  of  the  train  of  the  rich 
man's  miUes,  or  the  ringing  of  their  iron  hoofs  in  his 
paved  and  shady  portico.  We  pass  together  through 
the  Capene  gate,  dripping  with  the  waters  of  the 
conduit  that  passes  overhead,  bringing  a  supply  of 
water  from  the  distant  hills  into  the  imperial  city. 

"  Here  Nmna  erst  his  nightly  visits  paid, 
And  held  high  converse  with  the  Egerian  maid  : 
Now  the  once-hallowed  foimtain,  grove,  and  fane, 
Are  let  to  Jews,  a  wretched,  wandering  train, 
Whose  furniture's  a  basket  filled  with  hay, — 
For  every  tree  is  forced  a  tax  to  pay  ; 
And  while  the  heaven-bom  Nine  in  exile  rove, 
The  beggar  rents  their  consecrated  grove." 

—Ibid.,  12. 

Passing  beneath  this  vaulted  gate,  the  road  led 
down  the  world  -  renowned  Appian  Way,  the  well- 
known  burying-place  of  the  mighty  dead  at  Rome. 
For  many  miles  the  broad  straight  road  was  lined  on 
the  right  hand  and  on  the  left  by  huge  marble  monu- 
ments, stretching  away  in  an  unbroken  series  till  they 
grew  smaller  and  smaller,  and  at  length  vanished  in 


8 


JUVENAL. 


the  distance.  Yet  even  here— in  this  place,  of  all 
others,  most  sacred  to  the  memories  of  a  departed  great- 
ness—modern depravity  was  not  ashamed  to  ohtrude 
its  brazen  face  of  extravagance  and  vice  :— 

"  See,  by  his  great  progenitors*  remains 
Fat  Damasippus  sweeps,  with  loosened  reins : 
Good  consul !  he  no  pride  of  office  feels. 
But  stoops,  himself,  to  clog  his  headlong  wheels. 
*  But  this  is  all  by  night,'  the  hero  cries  : 
Yet  the  moon  sees  !  yet  the  stars  stretch  their  eyes 
Full  on  your  shame  !    A  few  short  moments  wait. 
And  Damasippus  quits  the  pomp  of  state  : 
Then  mounts  bis  chariot  in  the  face  of  day, 

Whirls  with  bold  front  his  grave  associate  by, 
And  jerks  his  whip  to  catch  the  senior's  eye." 

— Sat.  viii.  146. 

It  will  hardly  be  necessary  to  remark  here,  that  this 
driving  in  public  was  looked  on  as  a  gross  offence 
against  morality  and  common  decency ;  indeed,  as  an 
act  scarcely  less  disgraceful  than  to  engage  in  the  fights 
of  the  amphitheatre,  or  to  play  a  low  part  on  the  stage. 
And  thus  the  satirist  lashes  on  the  same  page  the  de- 
bauchee Matho,  or  the  renegade  patrician,  and  the  man 

"  Who  spent  on  horses  all  his  father's  land, 
While,  proud  the  experienced  driver  to  display,  ^^ 
His  glowing  wheel  smoked  o'er  the  Appian  way." 

Meanwhile  we  foUow  along  the  road,  and  reach  Aricia's 
hill,  and  its  proverbial  throng  of  beggars.  These,  then 
no  less  than  in  the  present  day,  took  advantage  of  tho 
steep  incline  to  crowd  round  the  passing  carriage,  and 


LIFE  OF  JUVENAL.  9 

demand,  even  with  threatening  words  and  gestures,  the 
alms  that  they  seemed  to  consider  due  to  them.  At 
this  point  we  leave  the  broad  Campagna  Romana  which 
we  have  hitherto  been  traversing,  to  climb  with 
Juvenal's  friend  the  range  of  hills  among  which  his 
secluded  farm  was  situated,  shunning  the  glare  and 
heat  of  the  plain  no  less  than  the  feverish  jealousies 
and  intrigues  of  the  city.  But  what  were  the  scenes 
that  might  there  be  seen,  and  what  the  poet's  frugal 
way  of  life,  he  shall  himself  set  forth  in  his  letter  of 
invitation  to  this  rural  retreat. 

The  eleventh  satire  is  written  in  the  form  of  a  letter 
to  a  friend,  Persicus,  inviting  him  to  supper  at  the 
poet's  farm.  The  introductory  lines  are  occupied  with 
an  attack  on  the  extravagance  and  luxury  of  the 
Eomans,  and  the  numerous  shameful  bankruptcies  that 
were  attributable  to  indulgence  of  the  palate.  He  then 
seizes  the  occasion,  and  shows  the  superiority  of  the 
good  old  times,  when  every  man  measured  his  appetite 
by  the  simple  requirements  of  nature,  nor  ever  thought 
to  spend  more  than  a  small  part  of  his  moderate  income 
on  the  pleasures  of  the  table  : — 

"  Enough  :  to-day  my  Persicus  shall  see 
Whether  my  precepts  with  my  life  agree  ; 
Whether,  with  feigned  austerity,  I  prize 
The  spare  repast,  a  glutton  in  disguise, 
Bawl  for  coarse  pottage,  that  my  friends  may  hear, 
But  whisper  *  sweetmeats  !'  in  my  servant's  ear. 
For  since,  by  promise,  you  are  now  my  guest, 
Know,  I  invite  you  to  no  sumptuous  feast. 
But  to  such  simple  fare,  as  long,  long  since, 
The  good  Evander  bade  the  Trojan  prince. 


10 


JUVENAL. 


Come  then,  my  friend,  you  will  not,  sure,  despise 
The  food  that  pleased  the  offspring  of  the  skies  ; 
Come,  and  while  fancy  brings  past  times  to  view, 
m  think  myself  the  king,  the  hero  you. 

Take  now  your  bill  of  fare  ;  my  simple  board 
Is  with  no  dainties  from  the  market  stored, 
But  dishes  all  my  own.     From  Tibur's  stock 
A  kid  shall  come,  the  fattest  of  the  flock. 
The  tenderest  too,  and  yet  too  young  to  browse 
The  thistle's  shoots,  the  willow's  watery  bou-hs, 
With  more  of  milk  than  blood  ;  and  pullets  drest 
With  new-laid  eggs,  yet  tepid  from  the  nest, 
And  'sparage  wild,  which,  from  the  mountam's  side, 
ISIy  housemaid  left  her  spindle  to  provide  ; 
And  grapes  long  kept,  yet  pulpy  still,  and  fair. 
And  the  rich  Signian  and  the  Syrian  pear  ; 
And  apples,  that  in  flavour  and  in  smell 
The  boasted  Picene  equal,  or  excel  :— 
Nor  need  you  fear,  my  friend,  their  liberal  use. 
For  age  has  mellowed  and  improved  their  juice. 

How  homely  this  !  and  yet  this  homely  fare 
A  senator  would,  once,  have  counted  rare  ; 
When  the  good  Curius  thought  it  no  disgrace 
O'er  a  few  sticks  a  little  pot  to  place. 
With  herbs  by  his  small  garden-plot  supplir.l— 
Food,  which  the  squalid  wretch  woidd  now  deride, 
Who'digs  in  fetters,  and,  with  fond  regret. 
The  tavern's  savoury  dish  rememljers  yet ! 

Time  was  when  on  the  rack  a  man  wouhl  lay 
The  seasoned  flitch  against  a  solemn  day  ; 
And  think  the  friends  who  met  with  decent  mirth 
To  celebrate  the  hour  which  gave  him  birth, 
On  this,  and  what  of  fresh  the  alUirs  spared 


LIFE  OF  JUVENAL.  "  H 

(For  altars  then  were  honoured),  nobly  fared. 

Some  kinsman,  who  had  camps  and  senates  swayal, 

Had  thrice  been  consul,  once  dictator  made, 

From  public  cares  retired,  would  gaily  haste, 

Before  the  wonted  hour,  to  such  repast, 

Shouldering  the  spade,  that,  with  no  common  toil. 

Had  tamed  the  genius  of  the  mountain  soil. — 

Yes,  when  the  world  was  filled  with  Eome's  just  tame, 

And  Romans  trembled  at  the  Fabian  name, 

The  Scauran,  and  Fabrician  ;  when  they  saw 

A  censor's  rigour  e'en  a  censor  awe, 

No  son  of  Troy  e'er  thought  it  his  concern, 

Or  worth  a  moment's  serious  care  to  learn, 

What  land,  what  sea,  the  fairest  tortoise  bred, 

"Whose  clouded  shell  might  best  adorn  his  bed. 

His  bed  was  small,  and  did  no  signs  impart 
Or  of  the  painter  s  or  the  sculptor's  art. 
Save  where  the  front,  cheaply  inlaid  with  brass. 
Showed  the  rude  features  of  a  vine-crowned  ass  ;  ^ 
An  uncouth  brute,  round  which  his  children  played. 
And  laughed  and  jested  at  the  face  it  made  ! 
Briefly,  his  house,  his  furniture,  his  food. 
Were  uniformly  plain,  and  simply  good. 

* 

Then  the  rough  soldier,  yet  untaught  by  Greece 
To  hang,  enraptured,  o'er  a  finished  piece. 
If  haply,  'mid  the  congregated  spoils 
(Proofs  of  his  power,  and  guerdon  of  his  toils), 
Some  antique  vase  of  master-hands  were  fouuri, 
Would  dash  the  glittering  bauble  on  the  ground  ; 
That  in  new  forms  the  molten  fragments  drest 
Might  blaze  illustrious  round  his  courser's  chest 
Or,  flashing  from  his  burnished  helmet,  show 
(A  dreadful  omen  to  the  trembling  foe) 

*  The  head  was  crowned  with  vine  leaves,  the  ass  being  sacred 
to  Bacchus. 


m 


12 


JUVENAL. 


The  mighty  sire,  with  glittering  shield  and  spear, 
Hovering,  enamoured,  o'er  the  sleeping  fair, 
The  wolf,  by  Rome's  high  destinies  made  mikl, 
And,  playful  at  her  side,  each  wondrous  child. 

Thus,  all  the  wealth  tliose  simple  times  could  hoast, 
Small  wealth  !  their  hoi-ses  and  their  arms  engrossed  ; 
The  rest  was  homely,  and  their  frugal  fare. 
Cooked  without  art,  was  served  in  earthenware : 
Yet  worthy  all  our  envy,  were  the  breast 
But  with  one  spark  of  noble  spleen  possest. 
Then  shone  the  fanes  with  majesty  divine, 
A  present  god  was  felt  at  every  shrine  ! 
And  solemn  sounds,  heard  from  the  sacred  walls, 
At  midnight's  solenm  hour,  announced  the  Gaul:*, 
Now  rushing  from  the  main  ;  while,  prompt  to  save. 
Stood  Jove,  the  proi)het  of  the  signs  he  gave  ! 
Yet,  when  he  thus  revealed  the  will  of  fate, 
And  watched  attentive  o'er  the  Latian  state, 
His  shrine,  his  statue,  rose  of  humble  mould. 
Of  artless  form,  and  unprofaned  with  gold. 

Those  good  old  times  no  foreign  tables  sought ; 
From  their  own  woods  the  walnut-tree  was  brought. 
When  withering  limbs  declared  its  pith  unsound. 
Or  winds  uptore  and  stretched  it  on  the  ground. 
But  now,  such  strange  caprice  has  seized  the  great. 
They  find  no  pleasure  in  the  costliest  treat, 
Suspect  the  flowers  a  sickly  scent  exhale, 
And  think  the  ven'son  rank,  the  tiirbot  stale. 
Unless  wide-yawning  panthers,  towering  high- 
Enormous  pedestals  of  ivory. 
Formed  of  the  teeth  which  Elej^hantis  sends, 
Which  the  dark  Moor,  or  darker  Indian,  vends, 
Or  those  which,  now,  too  heavy  for  the  head. 
The  beasts  in  Nabathea's  forest  shed— 


LIFE  OF  JUVENAL.  13 

The  spacious  orbs  support :  then  they  can  feed, 
And  every  dish  is  delicate  indeed  ! 
For  silver  feet  are  viewed  with  equal  scorn, 
As  iron  rings  upon  the  finger  worn. 

To  me,  for  ever  be  the  guest  unknown. 
Who,  measuring  my  expenses  by  his  own, 
Remarks  the  difl'erence  with  a  scornful  leer. 
And  slights  my  humble  house  and  homely  cheer. 
Look  not  to  me  for  ivory  ;  I  have  none  : 
My  chess-board  and  my  men  are  all  of  bone  ; 
Nay,  my  knife-handles  ;  yet,  my  friend,  for  this, 
My  pullets  neither  cut  nor  taste  amiss. 

I  boast  no  artist,  tutored  in  the  school 
Of  learned  Trypherus,*  to  carve  by  rule  ; 
Where  large  sow-paps  of  elm,  and  boar,  and  hare, 
^         And  phoenicopter,  and  pygargus  rare, 

Getulian  oryx,  Scythian  pheasants,  point 

The  nice  anatomy  of  every  joint ; 

And  dull  blunt  tools,  severing  the  wooden  treat, 

Clatter  around,  and  deafen  all  the  street. 

My  simple  lad,  whose  highest  efforts  rise 

To  broil  a  steak  in  the  plain  country  guise. 

Knows  no  such  art ;  humbly  content  to  serve. 

And  bring  the  dishes  which  he  cannot  kerve. 

Another  lad  (for  I  have  two  to-day), 

Clad,  like  the  first,  in  homespun  russet  grey, 

Shall  fill  our  earthen  bowls  :  no  Phrygian  he. 

No  pampered  attribute  of  luxury, 

But  a  rude  rustic  ; — when  you  want  him,  speak. 

And  speak  in  Latin,  for  he  knows  not  Greek. 

♦  "Trypherus,  and  the  professors  of  the  art  of  carving,  em- 
ployed wooden  models  of  the  dishes  to  be  carved.  The  parts 
of  these  were  slightly  fastened  together,  so  that  the  pupil  could 
separate  them  with  a  blunt  knife." — J.  E.  B.  Mayor. 


u 


JUVENAL, 


Both  go  alike,  with  close-cropt  hair,  imdrest, 
But  ?pruced  to-day  in  honour  of  my  guest ; 
And  both  were  born  on  my  estate,  and  one 
Is  my  rough  shepherd's,  one  my  neatherd's  son. 
Poor  youth  !  he  mourns,  with  many  an  artk'ss  tear, 
His  long,  long  absence  from  his  mother  dear  ; 
Sighs  for  his  little  cottage,  and  would  fain 
Meet  his  old  playfellows,  the  goats,  again. 
Though  humble  be  his  birth,  ingenuous  grace 
Beams  from  his  eye,  and  flushes  in  his  face  ; 
Charming  suffusion  !  that  would  well  become 
The  youthful  offspring  of  the  chiefs  of  Rome. — 
He,  Persicus,  shall  fill  us  wine  which  grew 
Where  first  the  breath  of  life  the  stripling  drew, 
On  Tibur's  hills  ;— dear  hills,  that  many  a  day 
Witnessed  the  transports  of  his  infant  play. 

But  you,  perhaps,  expect  ?  wanton  throng 
Of  Gaditanian  girls,  with  dance  and  song. 
To  kindle  loose  desire  ;  girls,  that  now  bound 
Aloft  with  active  grace,  now,  on  the  ground, 
Quivering,  alight,  while  peals  of  praise  go  round. 
•  ••••• 

My  feast,  to-day,  shall  other  joys  afford : 
Hushed  as  we  sit  around  the  frugal  board. 
Great  Homer  shall  his  deep-toned  thunder  roll, 
And  mighty  Maro  elevate  the  soul ; 
Maro,  who,  warmed  with  all  the  poet's  fire, 
Disputes  the  palm  of  victory  with  his  sire  : 
Nor  fear  my  rustic  clerks  ;  read  as  they  will. 
The  bard,  the  bard,  shall  rise  superior  still ! 


Come  then,  my  friend,  an  hour  to  pleasure  spare, 
And  quit  awhile  your  business  and  your  care  ; 
The  day  is  all  our  own  :  come,  and  forget 


LIFE  OF  JUVENAL,  15 

Bonds,  interest,  all ;  the  credit  and  the  debt ; 
Nay,  e'en  your  wife  : 

•  •  •  •  •  • 

Yet,  at  my  threshold,  tranquillise  your  breast  ; 
There  leave  the  thoughts  of  home,  and  what  the  haste 
Of  heedless  slaves  may  in  your  absence  waste  ; 
And,  what  the  generous  spirit  most  offends, 
Oh,  more  than  all,  leave  there,  ungrateful  Friends. 

But  see  !  the  napkin,  waved  aloft,  proclaims 
The  glad  commencement  of  th'  Idajan  games. 
And  the  proud  prajtor,  in  triumphal  state. 
Ascends  his  car,  the  arbiter  of  fate  ! 
Ere  this,  all  Rome  (if  'tis,  for  once,  allowed. 
To  say  all  Rome,  of  so  immense  a  crowd) 
The  Circus  throngs,  and — Hark  !  loud  shouts  arise — 
From  these  I  guess  the  Green  has  won  the  prize  ;* 

*  The  race  in  its  first  institution  was  a  simple  contest  of  two 
chariots,  whose  drivers  were  distinguished  by  white  and  red  live- 
ries :  two  additional  colours,  a  light  green  and  cerulean  blue, 
were  afterwards  introduced  ;  and  as  the  races  were  repeated 
twenty-five  times,  one  hundred  chariots  contributed  every  day  to 
the  pomp  of  the  Circus.  The  four  factions  soon  acquired  a  legal 
establishment  and  a  mysterious  origin,  and  their  fanciful  colours 
were  derived  from  the  various  appearances  of  nature  in  the  four 
seasons  of  the  year  ;  the  red  Dog-star  of  summer,  the  snows  of 
winter,  the  deep  shades  of  autumn,  and  the  cheerful  verdure  of 
the  spring.  Another  interpretation  preferred  the  elements  to 
the  seasons,  and  the  struggle  of  the  green  and  blue  was  sup- 
posed to  represent  the  conflict  of  the  earth  and  sea.  Their 
respective  victories  announced  either  a  plentiful  harvest  or  a 
prosperous  navigation,  and  the  hostility  of  the  husbandmen 
and  mariners  was  somewhat  less  absurd  than  the  blind  ardour 
of  the  Roman  people  who  devoted  their  lives  and  fortunes  to 
the  colour  which  they  had  espoused.  Such  folly  was  disdained 
and  indulged  by  the  wisest  princes  ;  but  the  names  of  Caligula, 
Nero,  Vitellius,  Verus,  Comiuodus,  Caracalla,  and  Elagabalua, 


16 


JUVENAL. 


For  had  it  lost,  all  joy  had  been  supprest, 
And  grief  and  horror  seized  the  public  breast ; 
As  when  dire  Carthage  forced  our  arms  to  yield, 
And  poured  our  noblest  blood  on  Cannae's  field. 
Thither  let  youth,  whom  it  befits,  repair, 
And  seat  themselves  beside  some  favourite  fair, 
Wrangle,  and  urge  the  desperate  bet  aloud  ; 
While  we,  retired  from  business  and  the  crowd, 
Stretch  our  shrunk  limbs  by  sunny  bank  or  stream, 
And  drink  at  every  pore  the  vernal  beam. 
Haste,  then  :  for  we  may  use  our  freedom  now. 
And  bathe,  an  hour  ere  noon,  with  fearless  brow — 
Indulge  for  once  : — Yet  such  delights  as  these, 
In  five  short  morns,  would  lose  the  power  to  please  ; 
For  still,  the  sweetest  pleasures  soonest  cloy. 
And  its  best  flavour  temperance  gives  to  joy. 

— Sat.  xi.  56,  sqq. 

were  onroUetl  in  the  blue  or  green  factions  of  the  Circus :  they  fre- 
quented their  stables,  applauded  their  favourites,  chastised  tlieir 
antagonists,  and  deserved  the  esteem  of  the  popnlace,  by  tlie 
natural  or  affected  irritation  of  their  manners.  The  bloody  and 
tumultuous  contest  continiied  to  disturb  the  public  festivity  till 
the  last  age  of  the  spectacles  of  Rome  ;  and  Theodoric,  from  a 
motive  of  justice  or  affection,  interposed  his  authority  t»  pro- 
tect the  greens  against  the  violence  of  a  consul  and  patrician, 
who  were  passionately  addicted  to  the  blue  faction  of  the  Circus, 
—  Gibbon's  Decline  and  Fall,  ch.  xi 


f 


CUAPTEll  II. 


SATIRES    AND    SATIUISTS. 

"  Tub  true  end  of  satire,"  says  IJryden,  "  is  tlic  aiiiend-    -^' 
iiicJit  of  vices  by  corn'dion."     'J'l»i^^  dcfmition  of  Butin; 
is  no  d(»ul)i  too  narrow,  and  by  taking  np  too  lofty  a 
stand-point  woidd   altogctlicr   exclude   tbosc  writings 
wbose   bigbcst  aim  it  is  to  "sboot  folly  as  it  flics," 
seeking  Jeps  to   expose  tlie   crimes  or  to  reform  tlic 
manners  of  tlie  age,  than  to  i>rovidc  ainiiscnicnt  for 
Iboidlo  reader,  and,  wliile  so  doing,  cndcavouiing  to  set 
up  a  standard  of  tasle  and  criticism  to  be  developed 
by  instanci:s    of  failure  "vvbere  such  failure   can    but 
provoke   a  smile,   and  by  more   or  less  cynical   ei>i-      \ 
grams  on  the  gaucherics  of  our  less  cultivated  neigh-  ^    / 
bours.     K(;veith.jh:ss,  the  ^vords  which  we  have  just  , 
(pioted,  considered  lr«jm  finother  i)oint  of  view,  draw  \ 
an  excellent  distinction  between  true  satire  and  that   \ 
spurious  blanch  of  satirical  writing  whose  object  it  is    , 
rather  to  gratily  pcirsonal  i)i<iue  or  lust  for  revenge  by 
the  ridicule  or  defamation  of  a  i)rivato  enemy,  than  to 
check  public  foibles  by  wit  and  sarcasm.     Addison 
points  out  with  admirable  clearness  the  contrast  be- 
A.  c.  vol.  xiii.  B 


^ 


18 


JUVKSAL. 


twctii  the  true  sjilirist  aiul   the   mcro  uiitor  of  1am- 
pouns,   while   L'xplaining   tlio   (lillcn.'iicc  In'tween   Iho 
mode  of  criticism  which  ho  intcmleil  to  pursue  in  the 
f  *  Spectator,'  and   that  which  was  only  too   prevalent 
I  among  authoi^  of  every  rank  in  his  time.    "  If  I  attack 
the  vicious,  I  shall  only  sot  upon  them  in  a  body,  and 
■   will  not  bo  provoked  by  the  worst  usage  I  can  receive 
from  others  to   make   an  example  of  any   particular 
criminal.      It  is  not  Lais  or  Sileiuis  but  the  harlot  or 
1    the  drunkard  whom  I  shall  endeavour  to  expose,  and 
shall  consider  the  crime  as   it  appears  in  the  species, 
not  as  it  is  circumstanced  in  the  individual."    In  these 
wonls  we  may  discover  a  test  that  shall  enable  us  to 
distiu'guisli  between   the  mere   scurrilous  productions 
of  Grub  Street  and  writings  animated  by  the  true  fire  of 
genius.     TIk^  dillcrenee  is  obvious.    Yet  we  frequently 
Hud  that  tlie  satirist  is  confoumled   in   popular  esteem 
with  the  common  libeller;  many  people,  even  among 
those  whose  culture  might  lead  one  to  expect   from 
them   a  more  liberal  judgment,  being  ap[)arently  un- 
ubhi  to  discriminate  between  the  malice  (.f  the  literary 
vitriol-thrower  aiul  the  sareasui  of  the  poet  who  seeks 
to  strike  a  good  blow  in  the  war  of  virtut;  against  vice, 
of  wit  against  folly,  without  the  .slightest  wish  to  hurt 
the   s('lf-est«HMu    or   wound    the   vanity  even   of   those 
whose  many  failings  lay  them  most  open  to  the  shafts 
'   of  ridicule.     If  we  were  asked  what  is  in  our  opinion 
the   most   distinrtivi^   mark   by  which   .satire   may  be 
separated  from  lampoon,  we  should  point  to  the  strain 
of  "ood-nalured  nhasantrv  that   is   never   long  absent 


lium    the   best  satire— a  .['lality   that,  by   enabling 


o'  a 


Y 


SATIRES  AND  SATIRISTS. 


19 


H. 


man  to  assume  a  position  of  superiority  similar  to  that 
which  the  physician  is  enabled  to  hold  towards  his 
patient,  gives  the  satirist  an  immense  advantage  over 
his  less  even-tempered   antagonist,   and,  whether  in 
attack  or  defence,  may  be  counted  one  of  the  most 
effective  weapons  in  his  armoury.     Such  an  one,  by 
preserving  a  certain  impartiality  and  frankness  in  his 
opinions  and  conversation,  is  able  far  more  readily 
to  command  the  respect  and  attention  of  his  hearers. 
In  illustration  of  this  we  may  repeat  the  old  anecdote 
told  by  Steele  of  a  humorous  fellow  at  Oxford.    When 
he  heard  that  any  one  had  spoken  ill  of  him,  he  used 
to  say,  "  I  will  not  take  my  revenge  of  him  till  I  have 
forgiven  him."     What  he  meant  was  this :  that  he 
would   not  enter  the  lists  until  his  temper  was  so 
thoroughly  under  his  control  that  there  would  be  no 
danger  of  his  laying  himself  open  to  repartee,  by  allow- 
ing his  anger  to  outrun  his  judgment.     Dryden  him- 
self was  fully  aware  of  the  necessity  of  keeping  all 
violence  in  check,  and  of  subjecting  all  outbursts  of 
pique  and  animosity  to  the  strictest  rule  of  moderation 
and  good  taste.    True,  he  did  not  always  act  upon  this 
rule,  and  sometimes  he  seems  to  think  that  savage  undis- 
criminating  invective  is  the  highest  aim  of  the  satirist. 
It  is  not,  however,  in  such  passages  that  he  has  been 
counted  most  successful,  but  rather  in  those  in  which, 
with  the  greatest  delicacy  of  touch,  he  mocks  at  the 
ridiculous  pretensions  of  vanity,  or  rallies  the  eccentri- 
cities of  genius.     One  of  the  most  exquisite  examples 
of  this  method  is  the  character  of  Buckingham  in  his 
"  Absalom  and  AchitopheL"     Dryden  himself,  in  hLs 


20 


JVVENAL. 


SATIRES  AND  SATIRISTS. 


21 


*'  Discourse  on  Satire,"  selected  tliis  as  one   of  the 
brightest  gems  of  his  poems  ;  and  he  tliere  siipimrts 
his  judgment   by   the   following   arguments :—"  i he 
chamcter  of  Zimri,  in  my  Absalom,  is,  in  my  opinion, 
worth  the  whole  poem ;  it  is  not  bloody,  but  it  is 
ridiculous  enough  ;  aud  he  for  whom  it  was  intended 
was  too  witty  to  resent  it  .is  an  injury.     If  I  had  railed, 
1  micdit  have  sutfered  for  it  justly  ;  but  I  managed  my 
own  work  more  happily,  perhaps  more  dexterously.     I 
avoided  tlie  mention  of  great  crimes,  and  applied  my- 
self to  the  representing  of  blind  sides  and  little  extra- 
vagances, to  which,  the  wittier  a  man  is,  he  is  geiier- 
aliv  the  more  obnoxious."     We  can  only  regret  that 
Drvden,  as  well  as  many  other  satirists,  both  ancient 
and  modern,  did  not  more  faithfully  adhere  to  the  ex- 
celhnt  maxims  which  he  here  inculcates.      It  is  a 
failure  in  this  respect  that  has  doomed  so  much  of  the 
satire  of  the  contemporaries  of  Juvenal,  no  less  than 
of  those  of  Dryden,  to  the  oblivion  it  so  well  deserved. 
Epi<a-am  and  sarcasm,  however  witty,  if  guided  by  mere 
per^nal  spite  or  party  iV^eling,  must  of  necessity  b.se 
their  interest  when  the  object  against  whom  they  were 
directed  has  perished. 

It  w.)iUd  of  course  be  wholly  unfair  to  reproach  any 
writer  who  lived  in  the  time  of  the  Roman  Empire 
for  not  reaching  the  standard  of  unprejudiced  and 
.oodnatured  criticism  that  is  to-day  aimed  at  by  the 
satirist  of  men  and  maiiners-a  style  with  which  we 
are  all  well  acrpiainted  in  the  writings  of  Thackeray, 
an  author  who,  of  all  others,  acted  up  to  his  own  dic- 
tum  that  "if  fun  is  good,  truth  is  better,  and  love  is 


best  of  all."     Other  times,  they  say,  other  manners. 
The  society  of  Rome  under  Domitian  w^as  not  one  to 
be  curbed  by  a  silken  thread,  and  the  thicker-skinned 
Romans  could  hear  without  flinching  attacks  on  their 
lives  and  conduct  that  would  be  unendurable  to  a  man 
living   in  these  later  days.      Nor  should  we   forget 
that  in  ancient  Italy  life  was  very  much  more  public 
than  it  is  under  our  own  customs,  and  that  thus  much 
^hich  we  should  now  consider  an  unpardonable  breach 
of  confidence  and  of  good  manners  would  hardly  be 
open  to  objection  where  every  man  lived  constantly 
under  the  eyes  of  his  neighbour,   and  the    privacy 
necessitated  by  modern  ideas  of  self-respect  and  deco- 
rum was  quite  unknown.     Juvenal  w^as  thus  by  no 
means  under  the  same  obligation  as  would  now  be 
universally  acknowledged    and   enforced    among  our- 
selves, to  abstain  from  criticising  the  vulgar  dispky 
that  offended  him  at  the  dinner-table  of  Vino,  or  the 
unwieldy  gait  of  Matho ;    the  gluttony  of  Crispinus, 
or  the   prosaic   epics  of  Codrus.      Where  the  whole 
body  of  citizens  divided  their  day  betw^een  the  bath, 
the  forum,  and  the  circus,  the  poet  could  not  tear 
away  the  curtain  that  protects  family  life  from  the 
vulgar  gaze,  for  the  simple  reason,  that  what  we  now 
mean  when  we  speak  of  family  life  had  really  no 
existence. 

Again,  we  must  remember  that,  under  the  repressive 
system  pursued  by  the  imperial  government,  political 
Batire,  as  such,  was  impossible.  The  actions  of  the 
divine  descendant  of  the  Julian  line  might  either  be 
accepted   in   silence   or  greeted  with  gratitude   and 


I 


99 

Lit 


JUVENAL, 


SATIRES  AND  SATIRISTS, 


23 


applause ;  but  criticism-tliat  is  to  say,  adverse  criti- 
cism—on  the  political  topics  of  the  day  was  altogether 
f,>rbiaaen.    Where  such  criticism  is  found,  it  is  always 
directed  agahist  the  dead,  while  the  present  occupant 
of  the  purple  is  never  mentioned  except  to  be  praised. 
The  laws  of  treason,  that  served  to  punish  or  prevent 
all  attempts  to  break  down  the  hedge  of  majesty  that 
encircled  the  throne,   were  strained  to  the  utmost; 
whilst  those  laws  which  protected  the  reputation  of 
the  private  citizen  were,  on  the  principle  of  compensa- 
tion, not  so  strictly  enforced. 

Nevertheless,  though  w^e  may  regret  that  Juvenal 
did  not  more  entirely  refrain  from  singling  out  as  the 
objects  of  his  satire  individuals  of  obscure  station  in 
the  rank  and  file  of  society,  we  must  yet  grant  this 
much  to  his  memory,  that,  so  far  as  we  can  see,  he 
was  seldom  guided  in  his  selection  of  victims  by  per- 
sonal  considerations.  It  is  not  his  private  enemies 
that  he  has  honoured  with  an  unenviable  immortality; 
nor  does  he  seem  to  have  dragged  forward  any  man 
into  the  fire  of  general  ridicule  or  odium  except  as  an 
example  of  the  evil  consequences  of  some  particular 

vice  or  folly.  ^     •    -i     * 

His  method  was,  in  fact,  in  this  respect,  similar  to 
that  pursued  by  Horace»s  father  and  eulogised  by  his 
son,  who  has  left  us  the  following  example  of  his 
father's  teaching  :— 
"  ^  Look,  boy  V  he'd  say,  'at  Albius'  son,  observe  his  sorry 

plii^ht ;  .  ^  ii        • 

And  Birrus,  that  poor  beggar  there  !  say  are  not  these  a 

sight 


To  warn  a  man  from  squandering  his  patrimonial  means  ? ' 
When  counselling  me  to  keep  from  vile  amours  with  com- 
mon queans — 

*  Sectanus,  ape  him  not ! '   he'd  say ;  or,  urging  to  for- 

swear 
Intrigue  with  matrons  when  I  might  taste  lawful  joys 

elsewhere — 

*  Trebonius'  fame  is  blurred  since  he  was  in  the  manner 

caught.' " 

It  is,  moreover,  quite  unnecessary  to  agree  with  the 
crowd  of  learned  commentators,  and  maintain  that  every 
proper  name  introduced  by  Juvenal  must  needs  refer  to 
some  real  personage,  though  many  no  doubt  did  so 
refer.  But  the  acumen  that  seeks  to  discover  an  actual 
owner  for  the  term  Buhulco  Judice,  or,  as  we  should 
say  in  English,  *'  Judge  Bumpkin,'*  is  apt  to  overshoot 
the  mark  ;  and  we  shall  probably  be  nearer  the  truth 
if  we  look  on  Matho,  Maevia,  or  Crispinus,  and  many 
of  the  other  names  that  figure  in  these  pages,  as  being 
just  as  historical  as  the  Marquis  of  Steyne  or  Mrs 
Eawdon  Crawley. 

With  regard  to  Juvenal's  true  rank  as  a  poet,  opinions 
have  differed  as  widely  as  have  the  judgments  passed  on 
any  other  writer.  While  one  class  of  critics,  among 
whom  we  may  mention  the  historian  Gibbon,  cannot 
find  words  to  express  their  admiration  for  a  style  so 
perfect  that  not  a  single  word  could  be  added  or  re- 
moved without  loss, — a  style  matched  only  by  the  noble 
sentiments  of  patriotism  and  religion  that  it  teaches, 
and  the  lofty  moral  strain  in  which  it  is  pitched, — 
others  look  on  his  writings  as  among  the  most  corrupt 
productions  of  a  vicious  age,  overloaded  by  a  spurious 


I 


24 


JUVENAL. 


SATIRES  AND  SATIRISTS. 


25 


loftiness  of  manner,  the  result  of  a  pedantic  and  inflated 
mode  of  thought  acquired  in  the  schools  of  rhetorical 
declamation.     In  the  judgment  of  this  class  of  critics, 
the  naturally  vicious  disposition  of  the  author  may  he 
traced  in  his  forced  and  artificial  praise  of  virtue,  no 
less  than  in  his  choice  of  subjects.     The  candid  and 
impartial  critic  will,  as  usually  is  the  case,  find  that 
the  truth  lies  somewhere  between  the  two  extremes. 
AVhile  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  effect  of  an  early 
training  in  the  rhetorical  schools  may  often  be  traced 
in  a  somewhat  turgid  and  exaggerated  diction,— in  a 
too  free  use  of  ornament,  by  which  the  sense  is  occa- 
sionally rather  overloaded  than   illustrated  —  though 
there  are  passages  where  a  declamatory  style  is  carried 
beyond  the  limits  that  a  cultivated  taste  would  have 
assigned,— we  shall  yet  not  be  going  beyond  the  bounds 
of  strict  truth  when  we  assert  that,  for  impassioned 
eloquence  of  the  highest  order,  for  the  power  by  which 
the  orator  is  able  to  enlist  all  the  sympathies  of  his 
hearers,  Juvenal   has   seldom  been  equalled.      True, 
this  *'  rapid  and  resistless  sway  of  torrent  genius"  does 
not  necessarily  imply  poetic  faculties  of  the  highest 
order,  and  is  perhaps  the  mark  rather  of  the  orator 
than  of  the  poet.     However  that  may  be,  superlative 
excellence  in  qualities  that  exercise  so  strong  a  sway 
over  the  judgment  and  passions  of  men  will  never  fail  to 
deserve  and  to  obtain  general  applause  for  their  posses- 
sor.    Such  excellences  as  these,  where  no  small  portion 
of  the  effect  is  gained  by  the  choice  of  expressions,  or 
even  by  the  collocations  of  the  w^ords,  it  is  of  course 
more  than  usually  difficult  to  reproduce  in  a  translar 


tion ;  and  it  is  with  some  hesitation  that  we  ^bfQ  the 
following  passage  as  an  example  of  Juvenal's  style, 
when  appealing  to  the  deepest  feelings  of  his  audience. 
The  subject  of  the  passage  is  the  punishment  which  a 
guilty  conscience  brings  on  its  possessor  : — 

"  At  night,  should  sleep  his  harassed  limbs  compose, 
And  steal  him  one  sliort  UKjment  from  his  woes, 
Then  dreams  invade  ;  sudden  before  his  eyes 
The  violated  fane  and  altar  rise  ; 
And  (what  disturbs  him  most)  your  injured  shade 
In  more  than  mortal  majesty  arrayed, 
Frowns  on  the  wretch,  alarms  his  treacherous  rest, 
And  wrings  the  dreadful  secret  from  his  breast. 
These,  these  are  they,  who  tremble  and  turn  pale 
At  the  first  mutterinfjs  of  the  hollow  L^'^le  • 
Who  sink  with  terror  at  the  transient  glare 
Of  meteors,  glancing  through  the  turbid  air. 
Oh,  'tis  not  cliance,  they  cry  ;  this  hideous  crash 

Is  not  the  war  of  winds,  nor  the  dread  flash 
The  encounter  of  dark  clouds,  but  blasting  fire 
Charged  with  the  wrath  of  heaven's  insulted  sire  ! 
That  dreaded  peal,  innoxious,  dies  away  ; 
Shuddering,  they  wait  the  next  with  more  dismay, 
As  if  the  short  reprieve  were  only  sent 
To  add  new  horrors  to  their  punishment." 

—Sat.  xiii  217. 

l^or  is  Juvenal  less  a  master  of  the  humorous  style, 
when,  touching  on  a  ligliter  theme,  he  adopts  the  mock- 
heroic  vein,  and  laughs  at  the  state  council  of  Domi- 
tian  and  the  Fathers  of  Eome,  met  to  consider  what 
shall  be  done  with  a  mighty  turbot — a  present  to  the 
Emperor. 


2G 


JUVENAL. 


SATIRES  AND  SATIRISTS. 


27 


The  fisli  was  of  unparalleled  size,  and  the  difficulty  to 
he  solved  was  this :  in  all  the  palace 

"  No  pot  was  found 
Capacious  of  the  turhot's  ample  round." 

—Sat.  iv.  72. 

The  council  is  therefore  summoned  in  all  haste  to  the 
Emperor's  presence,  where  the  fish  lay.  Pegasus  avos 
there,  and  Crispus — 

"  Of  gentle  manners  and  persuasive  tongue  ;** 

Acilius,  and  Kubrius,  and  Montanus ; 

"  Crispinus  followed,  daubed  with  more  pei  fume — 
Thus  early  ! — than  two  funerals  consume  !" 

then  Pompey  and  Fuscus,  Viento  and  Catullus — 

"  A  base,  blind  parasite,  a  murderous  lord, 
From  the  bridge-end  raised  to  the  council-board  ; 
Yet  litter  still  to  dog  the  traveller's  heels, 
And  whine  for  alms  at  the  descending  wheels. 
None  dwelt  so  largely  on  the  turhot's  size, 
Or  raised  with  such  applause  his  wondering  eyes  ; 
But  to  the  left  (oh,  treacherous  want  of  sight !) 
He  poured  his  praise — the  fish  was  on  the  right ! " 

— Ibid.,  sqq. 

After  a  little  preliminary  conversation,  in  which  each 
noble  senator  strives  to  outdo  his  neighbour  in  abject 
fiattery  of  their  common  lord  and  master,  the  im- 
portant matter  is  brought  forward  for  decision  : — 

"  The  Emperor  now  the  important  question  put^ 

*  How  say  ye.  Fathers, — shall  the  fish  be  cut  ?  * 

*  Oh,  far  be  that  disgrace  ! '  Montanus  cries : 
'  No  ;  let  a  pot  be  formed  of  amplest  size, 
Within  whose  slender  sides  the  fish,  dread  sire  ! 


May  spread  his  vast  circumference  entire. 
Briiig,  bring  the  tempered  clay,  and  let  it  feel 
The  quick  gyrations  of  the  plastic  wheel.' 
But  Caesar,  thus  forewarned,  '  Make  no  campaign 
Unless  your  potters  follow  in  your  train  !'" 

— Ibid.,  sqq. 

The  very  luxury  of  servile  obsequiousness  could  go 
no  further;  and  all  having  approved  the  plan,  the 
council  is  dismissed,  and  the  anxious  citizens  are  reas- 
sured that  it  was  no  threatened  invasion  of  barbarians 
that  had  caused  aU  this  amount  of  trepidation  in  the 
imperial  cabinet. 

Another  talent  with  which  Juvenal  is  pre-eminently 
endowed,  is  that  of  bringing  up  before  -the  reader's 
eyes  a  graphic  picture  of  the  scene  which  he  describes. 
Whether  he  tells  of  Codrus  living  in  his  garret  among 
his  dovecots,  with  but  one  bed,  and  that  too  short  for 
his  short  wife,  and  six  pipkins  on  a  cupboard  for  all 
his  stock  of  furniture  ;  or  of  the  pomp  of  triumph,  with 
its  crushed  helms  and  battered  shields,  and  streamers 
borne  from  vanquished  fleets ;  whether  he  describes 
the  wrinkled  old  man,  toothless  and  blear-eyed  with 
a<^e ;  or  the  scene  on  a  ship's  deck  when  tossed  by  the 
ang^y  sea,  and  shrouded  in  a  black  storm-cloud  ;  a  feast 
in  a  palace,  or  a  drunken  brawl  in  the  streets,— we  al- 
ways have  the  same  power  manifested ;  a  power  by 
which  we  are  made  conscious  of  seeing  and  feeHng 
that  which  the  poet  would  have  us  see  and  feel.    What 
could  be  finer  or  more  powerfully  expressed  than  the 
following  passage,  in  which  the  mingled  joy  and  fear  of 
Rome  at°the  disgrace  and  death  of  Sejanus,  the  hated 


28 


JUVENAL, 


minister  of  Tiberius,  is  photographed  to  the  very  life 


for  all  future  ages 


"  The  statues  tumhled  clown 
Are  dragged  hy  hootini,^  thousands  throu^di  the  town  ; 
The  brazen  cars  torn  rudely  from  the  yoke, 
And,  with  the  blanudess  steeds,  to  shivers  broke. 
Then  roar  tlie  fires  !  the  sooty  artist  blows, 
And  all  Sejanus  in  the  furnace  glows  ; — 
Sejanus,  once  so  honoured,  so  adored, 
And  onlv  second  to  the  world's  great  lord, 
Kuns  glittering  from  the  mould  in  cups  and  cans, 
Biisons  and  ewers,  plates,  pitchers,  pots,  and  pans. 

*  Crown  all  your  doors  with  bay — triumphant  bay  ! 
Sacred  to  Jove — the  milk-wliite  victim  slay  ; 
For,  lo  !  where  great  Sejanus  by  tlie  throng — 

A  joyful  s}>ectacle  ! — is  dragged  along. 

What  lips  !  what  cheeks  !     Ah,  traitor  !  for  my  part, 

I  never  hjved  the  fellow — in  my  lieart.' 

*But  tell  me, — why  was  he  adjudged  to  bleed  ? 

And  who  discovered,  and  who  proved  the  deed  V 

'  Proved  !     A  huge  wordy  letter  came  to-day 

From  Caprea).'   *  Good  !  What  think  the  people  ?'  *They  ! 

Thev  follow  fortune,  as  of  old,  and  hate 

With  their  whole  soul  the  victim  of  the  state. 

Yet  would  the  herd,  thus  zealous,  thus  on  tire, 

Had  Nurscia  met  the  Tuscan's  fond  desire, 

And  crushed  the  nnwary  prince,  have  all  combined, 

And  hailed  Sejanus  master  of  mankind  ! 

*  But  there  are  more  to  suffer.'     *  So  I  find  ; 
A  fire  so  fierce  was  ne'er  for  one  designed. 

I  met  my  friend  Brutidius  ;  and  I  fear. 
From  his  pale  looks,  he  thinks  there's  danger  near. 
What  if  this  Ajax,  in  his  frenzy,  strike, 
Suspicious  of  our  zeal,  at  all  alike  V 


^<r 


SATIRES  AND  SATIRISTS. 


29 


*  True.     Fly  we,  then,  our  loyalty  to  show, 
And  trample  on  the  carcass  of  his  foe, 
While  yet  exposed  on  Tiber's  banks  it  lies.* 

*  But  let  our  slaves  be  there,'  another  cries. 

*  Yes,  let  them  (lest  our  ardour  they  forswear, 
And  drag  us  pinioned  to  the  bar)  be  there.' " 

— Sat.  X.  58. 


With  regard  to  the  charge  of  immorality,  already 
alluded  to,  if  it  were  not  for  the  high  characters  that 
many  of  the  detractors   from  the  poet's  fame   have 
borne,  both  for  critical  acumen  and  integrity  of  cha- 
racter, we  should   be  tempted   to  say  with  Gifford, 
"that  there   is  something  of  pique  in  the  singular 
severity  with  which  he  is  censured  ;"  that,  feeling  his 
high  morality  as  a  censure  on  themselves,  "  they  seek 
to  indemnify  themselves  by  questioning  the  sanctity 
which   they  cannot   but    respect,  and  find   a   secret 
pleasure  in  persuading  one  another  that  this  dreadful 
satirist  was  at  heart  no  inveterate  enemy  to  the  licen- 
tiousness wdiich  he  so  vehemently  reprehends."     The 
coarseness  which  does  undoubtedly  deface  his  pages  in 
more  than  one  instance  must  not  be  confounded  w4th 
immorality,  or  even  with  indecency.     It  is  the  result 
of  the  times  far  more  than  of  the  individual  tempera- 
ment of  the  writer  ;  and  the  same  coarseness  will  be 
found  not  only  in  the  pages  of  Horace  and  Persius, 
but  also  of  philosophers  like  Seneca  and  Pliny,  to  say 
nothing   of  such  writers  as   Martial    and   Petronius. 
If,  however,  it  is  complained  that  the  fault  lies  not 
so  much  in  the  subjects,  or  even  in  the  expressions, 
as  in  the  undercurrent  of  thought,  in  hints  and  innuen- 


I 


30 


JUVENAL. 


SATIRES  AXD  SATIRISTS. 


31 


does, — we  can  only  reply,  that  the  volume  is  read 
by  many  who  see  no  such  moral  defects,  and  that 
there  are  few  writers  on  moral  subjects  against  whom 
the  same  insinuations  might  not  be  made  with  equal 

justice. 

As  to  the  sulyects  that  are  treated  by  Juvenal,  their 
name  in  truth  is  legion.  Of  some  of  the  more  pro- 
minent among  these  we  have  already  spoken,  and  we 
shall  illustrate  them  in  other  chapters.  For  the  rest, 
the  general  scope  and  mode  of  treatment, — the  way  in 
which  one  subject  is  made  to  lead  on  to  another,  and 
how  allusions  to  social  life  and  the  events  of  contem- 
porary history  and  politics  are  introduced, — may  be 
Gathered  from  the  First  Satire. 

In  it  the  poet  gives  his  reasons  for  writing  satire, 
and  lays  down  a  kind  of  outline  that  is  subsequently 
filled  up.     Of  part  of  this  satire  we  here  give  a  trans- 
lation, both  because  it  enumerates  the  subjects  that  are 
treated  of  at  greater  length  elsewhere,  and  as  giving  an 
example  of  the  general  spirit  of  thcv  poet,  and  setting 
forth  in  emphatic  language  many  of  his  peculiar  likes 
and  dislikes.     We  may  however,  i)erhaps,  be  allowed 
to  repeat  here  what   we   have  elsewhere  laid  down 
witli  regard  to  the  continual  development  visible  in 
Juvenal's  moral  life,— that  it  is  in  the  later,  and  not 
in  the  earlier,  satires  that  his  philosophy  may  best  l)e 
traced.     It  is  not  till  his  later  years  that  he  shows  a 
readiness  to  see  what  there  is  of  good  in  all  that  sur- 
rounds him  ;  that  lie  lays  aside  the  destroying  club  of 
Hercules,  in  order  to  build  np  on  the  ground  that  has 
tlius  been  cleared   an  ethical   system  that    has  been 


declared  by  some  authorities  to  equal,  as  far  as  might 
be  without  the  aid  of  revelation,  the  more  complete 
code  of  morality  which  we  owe  to  Christianity. 

After  a  few  lines  by  way  of  introduction,  in  which 
he  playfully  describes  his  dread  of  the  whole  herd  ol 
reciters  of  poetry,  and  his  resolve  to  be  revenged  upon 
them  in  kind,  Juvenal  proceeds  to  give  the  reasons 
that  determined  him  to  write  satire  rather  than  any 
other  kind  of  poetry  : — 

**  But  why  I  choose,  adventurous,  to  retrace 
The  Auruncan's  route,  and,  in  the  arduous  race, 
Follow  his  burning  wheels,  attentive  hear. 
If  leisure  serve,  and  truth  be  worth  your  ear. 

When  the  soft  eunuch  weds,  and  the  bold  fair 
Tilts  at  the  Tuscan  boar,  with  bosom  bare  ; 
When  one  that  oft,  since  manhood  first  appeared, 
Has  trimmed  the  exuberance  of  this  sounding  beard, 
In  wealth  outvies  the  senate  ;  when  a  vile, 
A  slave-born,  slave-bred  vagabond  of  Nile, 
Crispinus,  wlule  he  gathers  now,  now  flings 
His  purple  open,  fans  his  summer  rings  ; 
And,  as  his  fingers  sweat  l)eneath  the  freight, 
Cries,  ^  Save  me— from  a  gem  of  greater  weight :  * 
'Tis  hard  a  less  adventurous  course  to  choose, 
While  folly  plagues,  and  vice  inflames  the  Muse. 
For  who  so  slow  of  heart,  so  dull  of  brain, 
So  patient  of  the  town,  as  to  contain 
His  bursting  spleen,  when,  full  before  his  eye. 
Swings  the  new  chair  of  lawyer  Matho  by, 
Crammed  with  himself  !  then,  with  no  less  parade. 
That  caitiff's,  who  his  noble  friend  betrayed. 
Who  now,  in  fancy,  prostrate  greatness  tears, 
And  preys  on  what  the  imperial  vulture  .spares ! 


I 


32 


JUVENAL, 


Whom  Massa  dreads,  Latinus,  trembling,  plies 
With  a  fair  wife,  and  anxious  Carus  buys. 

•  •*••• 

Ye  gods  ! — what  rage,  what  frenzy  fires  my  brain, 
When  that  false  guardian,  with  his  splendid  train, 
Crowds  the  long  street,  and  leaves  his  orphan  charge 
To  prostitution,  and  the  world  at  large  ! 
When,  by  a  juggling  sentence  damned  in  vain 
(For  who,  that  hokls  the  plunder,  heeds  the  pain  X) 
Marius  to  wine  devotes  his  morning  hours, 
And  laughs  in  exile  at  the  offended  Powers : 
While,  sighing  o'er  the  victory  she  won. 
The  Province  finds  herseK  but  more  undone  ! 

And  shall  I  feel  that  crimes  like  these  require 
The  avenging  strains  of  the  Venusian  lyre,* 
And  not  pursue  them  \ — shall  I  still  repeat 
The  legendary  tales  of  Troy  and  Crete  ; 
The  toils  of  Hercules,  the  horses  fed 
On  human  flesh  by  savage  Diomed, 
The  lowing  la1)yrinth,  the  builder's  flight, 
And  the  rash  boy,  hurled  from  his  airy  height  ? 
When  what  the  law  forbids  the  wife  to  heir, 
The  adulterer's  Will  nuiy  to  the  wittol  bear, 
Who  gave,  with  wand' ring  eye  and  vacant  face, 
A  tacit  sanction  to  his  own  disgrace  ; 
And,  while  at  every  turn  a  look  he  stole, 
Snored,  unsuspected,  o'er  the  treacherous  b«jwl ! 

When  he  presumes  to  ask  a  troop's  command 
Who  spent  on  horses  all  his  father's  land. 
While,  proud  the  experienced  driver  to  display, 
His  glowing  wheels  smoked  o'er  the  Appian  Way : — 
For  there  our  young  Automedon  first  tried 
His  powers,  there  loved  the  rapid  car  to  guide. 

*  The  allusion  is  to  Horace,  who  was  born  at  Veuusium. 


SATIRES  AND  SATIRISTS.  33 

Who  would  not,  reckless  of  the  swarm  he  meets, 
Fill  his  w^ide  tablets,  in  the  public  streets. 
With  angry  verse  I  when,  through  the  mid-day  glare, 
Borne  by  six  slaves,  and  in  an  open  chair. 
The  forger  comes,  who  owes  this  blaze  of  state 
To  a  wet  seal  and  a  fictitious  date  ; 
Comes,  like  the  soft  Maecenas,  lolling  by, 
And  impudently  braves  the  pul)lic  eye  ! 
Or  the  rich  dame,  who  stanched  her  husband's  thirst 
With  generous  wine,  but— drugged  it  deeply  first ! 
And  now,  more  dext'rous  than  Locusta,  shows 
Her  country  friends  the  beverage  to  comi)ose. 
And,  'midst  the  curses  of  the  indignant  throng, 
Bears,  in  broad  day,  the  spotted  corpse  along. 

Dare  nobly,  man  !  if  greatness  be  thy  aim. 
And  practise  what  may  chains  and  exile  claim : 
On  Guilt's  broad  base  thy  towering  fortunes  raise, 
For  Virtue  starves  on— universal  praise  ! 
While  crimes,  in  scorn  of  niggard  fate,  afford 
The  ivory  couches,  and  the  citron  board, 
The  goblet  high-embossed,  the  antique  plate. 
The  lordly  mansion,  and  the  fair  estate  ! 

Oh,  who  can  rest— who  taste  the  sweets  of  life. 
When  sires  debauch  the  sou's  too  greedy  wife  ! 

.  •  •  • 

No  :  Indignation,  kindling  as  she  views,' 
Shall  in  each  breast  a  generous  warmth  infuse, 
And  pour,  in  Nature  and  the  Nine's  despite. 
Such  strains  as  I,  or  Cluvienus,*  write  ! 

E'er  since  Deucalion,t  while,  on  every  side, 
The  bursting  clouds  upraised  the  whelming  tide, 

*  Cluvienus  was  a  contemporary  poet,  or  rather  poetaster,  of 
whom  nothing  more  is  known  than  his  name,  here  immortalised 

by  Juvenal. 

t  According  to  Ovid  (Metamorph.,  Book  L),  Deucalion  and 

A.  C.  vol.  xiii.  0 


I 


34 


JUVENAL. 


Reached,  in  his  little  skiff,  the  forked  hill,      ^ 
And  sought,  at  Themis'  shrine,  the  Immortals  will ; 
When  softening  stones  grew  warm  with  gradual  hie, 
And  Pyrrha  brought  each  male  a  virgin  wife  ; 
Whatever  passions  have  the  soul  possest, 
Whatever  wild  desires  inflamed  the  breast, 
Joy,  Sorrow,  Fear,  Love,  Hatred,  Transport,  Rage, 
Shall  form  the  motley  subject  of  my  page. 

And  when  could  Satire  l)oast  so  fair  a  field  1 
Say,  when  did  Vice  a  richer  harvest  yield  ? 
When  did  fell  Avarice  so  engross  the  mind  ? 
Or  when  the  lust  of  play  so  curse  mankind  ?— 
No  longer,  now,  the  pocket's  stores  supply 
The  boundless  charges  of  the  desperate  die  : 
The  chest  is  staked  !— muttering  the  steward  stands, 
And  scarce  resigns  it,  at  his  lord's  commands. 

Is  it  a  SIMPLE  MADNESS,  I  WOUld  kuOW, 

To  venture  countless  thousands  on  a  throw, 

Yet  want  the  soul,  a  single  piece  to  spare 

To  clothe  the  slave,  that  shivering  stands  and  bare ! 

Who  called,  of  old,  so  many  seats  his  own. 
Or  on  seven  sumptuous  dishes  supped  alone  ?— 
Then  plain  and  open  was  the  cheerful  feast, 
And  every  client  was  a  bidden  guest ; 
Now,  at  the  gate,  a  paltry  largess  lies, 
And  eager  hands  and  tongues  dispute  the  prize. 
]hit  first  (lest  some  false  claimant  should  be  found) 
The  wary  steward  takes  his  anxious  round, 
And  pries  in  every  lace,  then  calls  aloud, 
•  Come  forth,  ye  great  Dardanians,  from  the  crowd  ! ' 

Pyrrha  were  the  progenitors  of  the  human  race  after  the  flood. 
The  story  is,  that  they  took  up  stones  and  threw  them  over 
their  heads;  and  that  these  stones  became  the  first  men  and 
women  of  the  new  creation. 


SATIRES  AND  SATIRISTS. 


35 


For,  mixed  with  us,  e'en  these  besiege  the  door, 

And  scramble  for— the  pittance  of  the  poor  ! 

*  Despatch  the  Praetor  first,'  the  master  cries, 

« And  next  the  Tribune.'     *  No,  not  so,'  replies 

The  Freedman,  bustling  through  ;  '  first  come  is  still 

First  served  ;  and  I  may  claim  my  right,  and  will  !— 

Though  born  a  slave  ('tis  bootless  to  deny 

What  these  bored  ears  betray  to  every  eye). 

On  my  own  rents,  in  splendour,  now  I  live. 

On  five  fair  freeholds  !     Can  the  purple  give 

Their  Honours  more  ?  when,  to  Laurentum  sped. 

Noble  Corvinus  tends  a  flock  for  bread  ! — 

Pallas  and  the  Licinii,  in  estate, 

Must  yield  to  me  :  let,  then,  the  Tribunes  waif 

Yes,  let  them  wait !  thine,  Riches,  be  the  field  ! — 

It  is  not  meet,  that  he  to  Honour  yield, 

To  SACRED  Honour,  who,  with  whitened  feet, 

Was  hawked  for  sale,  so  lately,  through  the  street. 

0  gold  !  though  Rome  beholds  no  altars  flame, 

No  temples  rise  to  thy  pernicious  name, 

Such  as  to  Victory,  Virtue,  Faith  are  reared. 

And  Concord,  where  the  clamorous  stork  is  heard. 

Yet  is  thy  full  divinity  confest, 

Thy  shrine  established  here,  in  every  breast. 

But  while,  with  anxious  eyes,  the  great  explore 
How  much  the  dole  augments  their  annual  store, 
What  misery  must  the  poor  dependant  dread. 
Whom  this  small  pittance  clothed,  and  lodged,  and  fed  ? 
Wedged  in  thick  ranks  before  the  donor's  gates, 
A  phalanx  firm,  of  chairs  and  litters,  waits ; 
Thither  one  husband,  at  the  risk  of  life. 
Hurries  his  teeming,  or  his  bedrid  wife  ; 
Another,  practised  in  the  gainful  art. 
With  deeper  cnnning  tops  the  beggar's  part ; 
Plants  at  his  side  a  close  and  empty  chair : 
'  My  Galla,  master  ;— give  me  Galla's  share.' 


36 


JUVEyAL. 


*Galla  !'  the  porter  cries  ;  *  let  lier  look  out.* 

*Sir,  .<=he's  asleep.     Nuy,  {,'ive  me  ;— can  you  douU  ?* 

What  rare  pursuits  employ  the  client's  day  ! 
First  to  the  patron's  door  tlu-ir  court  to  pay, 
Next  to  the  I'oriuii,  to  support  his  cause, 
Thence  to  Api>llo,  learned  in  the  laws, 
xVnd  the  triumphal  statues. 

. 
Ueturnin<4  home,  he  drops  them  at  the  gate : 
And  now  the  weary  clients,  wise  too  late, 
Resign  their  hopes,  and  supperless  retire, 
To  spend  the  paltry  dole  in  herbs  and  tire. 

Meanwhile  their  patron  sees  his  ])alace  stored 
With  every  dainty  earth  and  sea  allord  ! 
Stivtched  on  the  unsocial  couch,  he  rolls  his  eyes 
O'er  many  an  orb  ol"  matchless  form  and  size, 
Selects  the  fairest  to  receive  his  plate, 
Auil,  at  one  meal,  devours  a  whole  estate  !— 
Ihit  who  (for  not  a  parasite  is  there) 
The  seltishness  of  luxury  can  bear  ? 
See  !  the  lone  glutton  craves  whole  boars  !  a  beast 
Designed  by  nature  for  the  ^ocial  feast  !— 
But  speedy \vrath  o'ertakes  him  :  gorged  with  food, 
And  swollen  and  fretted  l)y  the  peacock  crude. 
He  seeks  the  bath,  his  feverish  pulse  to  still, 
Hence  sutlden  death,  and  age  without  a  Will ! 
Swift  tlies  the  tale,  by  witty  spleen  increast. 
And  furnishes  a  laugh  at  every  feast ; 
The  laugh,  his  friends  not  undelighted  hear. 
And,  fallen  from  all  their  hopes,  insult  his  bier. 

NoTHisci  is  left,  NOTHING  for  future  times 
To  add  to  the  full  catalogue  of  crimes  ; 
The  battled  sons  must  feel  the  same 'desires. 
And  act  the  same  mad  follies,  as  their  sires. 


SATIRES  AND  SATIRISTS. 


37 


Vice  has  attained  its  zenith  : — Then  set  sail, 
Spread  all  thy  canvas,  Satire,  to  the  gale. 

But  where  the  powers  so  vast  a  theme  rerpiircs  ? 
Where  the  plain  times,  the  simjde,  when  our  sires 
Enjoyed  a  freedom  which  I  dare  not  name, 
And  gave  the  public  sin  to  public  shame, 
Heedless  who  smiled  or  frowned  I — Now,  let  a  line 
But  glance  at  Tigellinus,  and  you  shine. 
Chained  to  a  stake,  in  pitchy  robes,  and  light. 
Lugubrious  torch,  the  deepening  sha«'es  of  night ; 
Or,  writliing  on  a  hook,  are  dragged  around, 
An<l  with  your  mangled  members  plough  the  ground. 

AVhat !  shall  the  wretch  of  hard,  unpitying  soul, 
Who  for  three  uncles  mixed  the  deadly  bowl, 
Propped  on  his  ]dumy  couch,  that  all  may  see, 
Tower  by  triumphant,  and  look  down  on  me  ? 

Yes  ;  let  him  look.     He  comes  !  avoid  his  way, 
And  on  your  lip  your  cautious  finger  lay  ; 
Crowds  of  informers  linger  in  his  rear. 
And,  if  a  whisper  pass,  will  overhear." 

—Sat.  i.  19. 


The  practice  of  delation  here  alluded  to  was  a  topic 
which  could  hardly  have  been  avoided  by  any  satirist 
who  took  the  reign  of  Domitian  for  his  theme.  This 
odious  custom — one  of  the  most  intolerable  evils  of  the 
lloman  Empire — had  its  rise  in  a  trait  of  character 
which  was  in  itself  innocent,  if  not  praiseworthy.  Even 
in  the  days  of  the  Eepublic,  it  had  not  been  unusual 
for  young  men  who  wished  to  take  a  place  among  the 
leading  politicians  of  the  day  to  commence  their  public 
career  by  impeaching  before  the  people  of  Eome  any 
among  her  more  powerful  citizens  who,  during  their 
tenure  of  office,  had  transgressed  the  laws  or  had  harshly 


38 


JUVENAL. 


ruled  over  their  province.  Such  conduct  was  con- 
sidered no  less  honourable  to  the  accuser  tlian  service- 
ahle  to  the  state  ;  and  it  was  by  such  means  that  men 
like  Crassus,  Cicero,  and  Cffisar  first  earned  the  applause 
of  their  fellow-citizens.  It  is,  however,  clear  that  such 
a  mode  of  procedure  was  eminently  liable  to  abuse,  as 
indeed  the  event  but  too  soon  proved. 

The  fact  is,  that  as  early  as  the  days  of  Augustus, 
many  men    of  honourable   birth,   forgetful   of  what 
was  due  to  their  own  reputation  and  the  glorious  tra- 
ditions  of  their  family,  had  not  been  ashamed  to  pro- 
stitute their  intellect  by  a  persecution,  thinly  veiled 
by   an   observance    of    legal   forms,   of    any   private 
enemies   of  the  emperor.      Under  the  successors  of 
Augustas,  the  practice,  though  sometimes  discounte- 
nanced, spread  on  the  whole  witli  fearful  rapidity,  tdl, 
in  the  time  of  Domitian,  the  Terror  reigned  throughout 
the  Empire.     "The  best  and  noblest  of  the  citizens 
were  still  marked  out  as  the  prey  of  delators,  whose 
patrons  connived  at  enormities  which  bound  their  agents 
more  closely  to  themselves,  and  made  his  protection 
more  necessary  to  them.     The  haughty  nobles  quailed 
in  silence  under  a  s^'stem  in  which  every  act,  every 
word,  every  sigh  was  noted  against  them,  and  disgrace, 
exilei  and  death  followed  upon  secret  whispers." 

This  system  it  is  against  which  Juvenal  has  in- 
veicdied  in  his  most  telling  manner.  At  one  time,  in 
his'more  humorous  vein,  he  mocks  at  the  way  in  which 
this  self-appointed  police  swarmed  even  in  places 
where  they  might  have  been  least  expected ;  at  the 
paltry  annoyance  of  the  inquisitor,  almost  too  ridicu- 


S  ATI  RES  AND  SATIRISTS. 


39 


lous  to  be  hated,  which  thought  no  matter  too  unim- 
portant for  his  attention.  A  fisherman  near  Ancona 
has  caught  an  enormous  turbot— the  same  which  figured 
at  Domitian's  supper-party,  already  mentioned  *— but 
can  hardly  be  congratulated  on  his  luck.  And  the 
reason  is  soon  made  obvious  : — 

«  The  mighty  draught  the  astonished  boatman  eyes, 
And  to  "the  Pontiff's  t  table  dooms  the  prize  : 
For  who  would  dare  to  sell  it  ?  who  to  buy  ? 
When  the  coast  swarmed  with  many  a  practised  spy,— 
Mud-rakers,  prompt  to  swear  the  fish  had  fled 
From  Cesar's  ponds,  ingrate  !  where  long  it  fed, 
And  thus,  recaptured,  claimed  to  be  restored 
To  the  dominion  of  its  ancient  lord  !  ' 

Nay,  if  Palphurius  may  our  credit  gain, 
Whatever  rare  or  precious  swuns  the  main 
Is  forfeit  to  the  crown,  and  you  may  seize 
The  obnoxious  dainty  when  and  where  you  please. 
This  point  allowed,  our  wary  boatman  chose  ^ 
To  frive— what  else  he  had  not  failed  to  lose." 

— Sat.  iv.  45. 

Elsewhere  Juvenal  pours  out  his  indignation  more 

openly  on  such  men  as 

"  Pompey,  practised  to  betray, 
And  hesitate  the  noblest  lives  away ;"— Ibid.,  110. 

men  who,  under  the  guise  of  friendship,  would  worm  out 
the  secret  thoughts  of  their  neighbour,  and  then  betray 
him  who  had  put  confidence  in  their  loyalty.  Such 
men  were  Carus,Massa,  Messalinus,  and,  above  all,  Keg- 

♦  See  above,  page  25. 

+  Among  the  various  titles  assumed  by  the  early  Roman 
emperors  was  that  of  Pontifex  Maximus,  or  Supreme  Pontiff. 


40 


JUVENAL. 


iilus,  whose  infamous  reputation  earned  for  him  the  title 
of  "  prince  of  informers." 

In  the  remaining  lines  of  this  first  satire  Juvenal 
contrasts  the  satirical  Avitli  other  kinds  of  poetry,  and 
comes  to  the  conclusion,  after  an  argument  with  a 
supposed  interlocutor,  that  the  former,  if  the  more 
dangerous,  is  also  the  more  honourable  to  the  poet. 

"  Bring,  if  you  pic  use,  .Eiieas  on  the  stage, 
Fierce  war  with  the  Rutulian  prince  *  to  wage  ; 
Subdue  the  stern  Achilles  ;  and  once  more 
With  *  Hylas  ! '  '  Hj  las  ! '  fill  the  echoing  shore  ; 
Hanuless,  nay,  pleasimt,  sludl  the  tale  be  found — 
It  bares  no  ulcer,  and  it  probes  no  wound. 
But  when  Lucilius,  tired  ^vith  virtuous  rage, 
Waves  his  keen  falchion  o'er  a  guilty  age, 
Tlie  conscious  villain  shudders  at  his  sin. 
And  burning  blushes  speak  the  pangs  within  ; 
Cold  drops  of  sweat  from  every  member  roll, 
And  growing  terrors  harrow  up  his  soul : 
Then  tears  of  shame,  and  dire  revenge  succeed- 
Say,  have  you  pondered  well  the  advent' rous  deed  ? 
Now,  ere  the  trumpet  sounds,  your  strength  debate ; 
The  soldier,  once  engaged,  repents  too  late. 

Yet  I  MUST  write  :  and  since  these  iron  times, 
From  living  knaves  preclude  my  angry  rhymes, 
I  point  my  pen  against  the  guilty  dead. 
And  pour  its  gall  on  each  obnoxious  liead." 

—Sat.  i.  162. 

•  Tumus.     See  Virgil's  iEneid,  passim. 


CHAPTER  III. 


HORACE    AND    JUVENAL. 


The  characters  of  Horace  and  Juvenal,  the  two  prin- 
cipal Roman  satirists— the  only  two  whose  writings, 
as  they  have  come  down  to  us,  are  in  themselves 
worthy  of  much  study— appear  to  invite,  while  at  the 
same  time  they  defy,  comparison. 

The  themes  on  which  they  Avrote  were  also  to  a 
great  extent  the  same,  yet  treated  from  so  different  a 
point  of  view  that  it  is  difficult  to  find  any  sentiment 
repeated  in  the  two. 

Horace  affords  by  no  means  an  exception  to  the  rule, 
that  the  men  of  the  truest  wit  are  always  of  amelancholy, 
not  to  say  an  unhappy,  temperament.     Throughout  his 
works  there  is  always  a  tinge  of  a  pessimist  feeling,  a 
tendency  to  take  a  despondent  view  of  his  own  career, 
and  of  the  state  of  society  in  which  he  moved,  which, 
though  often  disguised,  is  constantly  cropping  up  under 
various  guises,  and  in  passages  where  one  would  hardly 
expect  to  meet  it.     His  farm  is  charming,  yet  he  can- 
not bear  to  live  at  a  distance  from  Rome  j  in  Rome  he 
pines  for  the  air  and  scenery  of  the  country.     Restless 


V 


42 


JUVENAL. 


HORACE  AND  JUVENAL. 


43 


when  at  home,  and  deriving  nothing  but  discomfort 
from  his  travels,  he  harps  on  his  ftiiling  health,  on  the 
sickness  and  death  of  his  friends,  on  the  inconstancy 
of  one  or  other  of  his  mistresses.  In  spite  of  all 
this,  he  does  not  feel  what  it  is  that  is  really  want- 
ing to  him.  Throughout  his  life  his  great  object  was 
to— 

"  Snatch  gaily  the  joys  wnich  tne  moment  shall  bring, 
And  away  every  care  and  perplexity  fling." 

The   one  thing  needful  to  make  his  life  a  truly 
happy  life— the  conscious  striving  after  some  great 
ideal,  or  the  pursuit  of  some  worthy  end— was  a  quality 
of  whose  absence  he  seems  never  to  have  been  aware  ; 
and  thus  his  life— a  life  that,  worthily  guided,  might 
have   accomplished   great   things— was  idly  frittered 
away.     Whether  he  appears  as  the  love-sick  poet,  or 
as  the  favoured  friend  of  the  emperor's  favourite ;  as 
tlie  amateur  farmer,  or  a^  the  neophyte  in  philosophy ; 
as   the   scoffer  at   superstition,   or  as   the   repentant 
religionist,— there  is  always  an  oppressive  conscious- 
ness of  something  wrong,  a  shrinking  anxiety  as  to  the 
future,  and  a  despondency  with  regard  to  the  present, 
which  is  scarcely  less  apparent  in  the  lines  in  which 
he  tries  t^  shake  off  the  feeling  than  in  those  in  which 
he  yields  to  it.     Most  of  all  we  may  notice  it  in  Lis 
latest  poems.     In  these  he  yields  more  than  elsewhere 
to  the  depressing  effects  of  fading  health,  and  the  loss 
of  the  friends  and  companions  of  his  cliildhood.     To 
multiply  instances  of  this  fact  were  idle ;  indeed  the 
greater  part  of  his  writings  might  be  cited  as  examples 


of  this  trait  in  Horace's  literary  character.    One  or  two 
passages  from  his  works  shaU  suffice  here  as  instances  : 

"  Both  thou  and  I 
Must  quickly  die. 

Content  thee,  then,  nor  madly  hope 
To  wrest  a  false  assurance  from  Chaldsean  horoscope. 



Use  all  life's  powers  : 

The  envious  hours 

Fly  as  we  talk  ;  then  live  to-day,  ^^ 

Nor  fondly  to  to-morrow  trust  more  than  you  must  or  may.' 

— L  Od.  xi. 

Again,  in  addressing  a  friend,  Dellius  ;— 

"  It  recks  not  whether  thou 

Be  opulent,  and  trace 
Thy  birth  from  kings,  or  bear  upon  thy  brow 

Stamp  of  a  beggar's  race  ; 
Be  what  thou  wilt,  full  surely  must  thou  fall, 
For  Orcus,  ruthless  king,  swoops  equally  on  alb 
Yes,  all  are  hurrying  fast 

To  the  one  common  bourne  ; 
Sooner  or  later  will  the  lot  at  last 

Drop  from  the  fatal  urn 
Which  sends  thee  hence  in  the  grim  Stygian  bark,    ^^ 
To  dwell  for  eveimore  in  cheerless  realms  and  dark. 

—II.  Od.  iii. 

In  very  similar  language  he  addresses  Posthumus  :— 

«  Land,  home,  and  winsome  wife  must  all  be  left ; 
And  cypresses  abhorred 
Alone  oi  all  the  trees 
That  now  your  fancy  please 
Shall  shade  his  dust,  who  was  a  little  while  their  lord. 

— Ibid. 


HORACE  AND  JUVENAL. 


45 


44 


JUVENAL. 


Tt  was,  porliaps,  a  result  of  the  general  feeling  of  his 
times,  rather  tl)an  of  his  own  temper,  that  he  dwelt  so 
fret[nently  on  the  certain  deterioration  of  the  human 
race  : 

"  How  time  doth  in  its  flight  debase 
Whate'er  it  finds  ? " 

Yet  it  is  fully  in  accord  with  the  general  undercurrent 
of  the  poet's  own  feelings,  whether  he  is  looking  for- 
ward to  his  own  death,  or  reminding  a  friend  of  the 
uncertainty  of  life  and  the  helplessness  of  man  against 
the  powers  of  Fate,  or  deploring  the  death  of  Virgil. 
If  he  speaks  of  the  spring,  it  is  to  tell  us  how  short- 
lived it  is  j  if  of  its  flowers,  to  show  how  soon  they  fade 
away. 

Juvenal,  on  the  other  hand,  if  we  may  be  allowed 
to  judge  of  him  from  such  evidence  as  is  aflbrded  by 
his  writings,  was  animated  by  feelings  of  a  wholly 
different  nature.  In  his  earliest  satires  we  may 
notice  a  fierceness  which  almost  degenerates  into 
savage,  cynical  onslaught  on  the  whole  social  system 
of  the  day.  In  the  seventh  satire,  while  there  is  less 
of  this  fierce  ungovernable  temper,  there  are  more  de- 
cided traces  of  melancholy  and  despondency  than  wo 
shall  find  in  his  other  writings.  Uut  this  defect  is 
shaken  ott*  as  tlie  poet  advances  in  years,  and  in  the 
latest  poems  there  is  less  of  the  satirist  and  more  of 
the  philosopher.  No  longer  content  with  a  dishear- 
tened criticism  on  the  failings  and  shortcomings  of 
human  life,  on  the  vanity  of  all  around  him,  Juvenal 
now  aims  at  holding  up  before  our  eyes  the  charms  of 


virtue,  and  the  true  dignity  and  happiness  of  the  good 
man's  life.  In  these  his  later  writings  the  poet  shows 
how  high  lineage  may  be  worthily  adorned  by  a  true 
and  honourable  career. 

"  Oil,  give  me  inborn  worth  !  dare  to  be  just, 
Firm  to  your  word  and  faithful  to  your  trust, 
These  praises  hear,  at  least  deserve  to  hear  ; 
I  grant  your  claim,  and  recognise  the  peer. 

'  Hail  !  from  whatever  stock  you  draw  your  birth, 
The  son  of  Cossus  or  the  son  of  Earth, 
All  hail  !  in  you  exulting  Rome  espies 
Iler  guardian  Power,  her  great  Palladium  rise  ; 
And  shouts  like  Egypt  when  her  priests  have  found 
A  new  Osiris  for  the  old  one  drowned  ! " 

— Sat.  viii.  25. 

He  now  dwells  on  the  pleasures  of  simple  tales  and 
of  a  country  life,  pointing  out  how  "  its  best  flavour 
temperance  gives  to  joy."  He  teaches  how  a  man 
should  live,  and  how  he  should  train  up  his  children 
in  the  way  in  which  they  should  go.  He  reminds  the 
parent  that  "reverence  to  children  as  to  heaven  is 
due  • "  shows  how  it  is  from  a  sound  education  that 
all  honourable  conduct  must  arise,  and  that  luxury^is 
by  no  means  necessary  for  a  contented  spirit. 

"  What  call  I  then  enough  ?    What  will  aflford 
A  decent  habit  and  a  frugal  board  ; 
What  Epicurus'  little  garden  bore, 
And  Socrates  sufficient  thought  before. 
These  squared  by  nature's  rule  their  harmless  life — 
Nature  and  wisdom  never  are  at  strife." 

— Sat.  xiv.  315. 

Holding  in  view  this  growth  ill  Juvenal's  moral 


HORACE  AND  JUVENAL.. 


M 


46 


JUVENAL. 


life,  it  has  weU  been  said  that    "the  satirist  whose 
aim   is  merely  negative  and  destructive— avIio   only 
pulls  down  the  generous  ideas  of  virtue  with  which 
youth  embarks  on  its  careers— is  simply  an  instrument 
of  evil ;  and  if  his  pictures  of  vice  are  too  glowing, 
too  true,  the  evil  is  so  much  the  greater ;  but  if  he 
pauses  in  liis  course  to  reconstruct,  to  raise  again  our 
hopes  of  virtue  and  point  our  steps  toward  the  goal  of 
religion  and  morality,  he  may  redeem  the  evil  tenfold. 
Thus  the  later  satires  of  Juvenal  more  than  compen- 
sate for  the  earlier ;  and  for  the  service  which  he  has 
in  them  done  to  mankind  our  reverential  gratitude  is 

due."  * 

Besides  all  the  effects  of  these  differences  of  character, 

there  are  in  the  writings  of  Juvenal  and  Horace  many 
instiinces  of  a  different  mode  of  treating  their  subject- 
matter,  which  we  nnist  attribute  far  more  to  the  effects 
of  the'  changed  political  and  social  conditions  under 
which  they  lived  and  worked,  than  to  any  traits  in 
their  individual  mode  of  thought.     In  that  age  which 
we  are  accustomed  to  call  Augustan  (an  age,  be  it  said, 
whose  weakness  and  crime  was  but  scantily  veiled  by 
the  flimsy  tinsel  of  a  spurious  refinement),  the  effects 
of  that  social  revolution  and  anarchy  through  which 
the  world  had  but  lately  passed,  and  in  which  it  was, 
indeed,  to  a  certain  extent  still  involved,  may  be  but 
too  readily  traced  in  the  customs  and  modes  of  thought 
of  the  people  of  the  day,  as  depicted  in  tlie  writings  of 
contemiM)rary  authors  that  still  survive.     For  half  a 
century  before  the  batth;  of  Actiuui,  the  Koman  world 
*  Mciivalt's  lioniiiu  Kiiipiie. 


I 


it 


had  been  torn  to  pieces  by  civil  strife,  and  harassed  by 
repeated  proscriptions,  while  its  fairest  provinces  had 
been  depopulated  by  the  clash  of  opposing  armies,  by 
the  hateful  strife  of  brother  with  brother,  in  which 

"  Roman  against  Roman  bared  his  blade, 
Which  the  fierce  Parthian  fitter  low  had  laid." 

And  though,  in  spite  of  all  this,  the  armies  of  the  great 
Republic  had  still  marched  victoriously  in  all  directions ; 
though  the  frontiers  of  the  Roman  commonwealth  had 
still  been  continually  thrust  out  further  and  further 
from  the  vast  metropolis;  though  the  pomp  of  the 
stately  triumph  might  year  after  year  be  seen  winding 
its  length  up  the  sacred  way  to  celebrate  an  ever- 
lengthening  list  of  victories  over  distant  nations,  whose 
very  name  and  habitation  were  scarcely  known  to  the 
sovereign  people  under  whose  sway  they  were  now  to 
live  ;  though  Fortune  still  seemed  to  wait  patiently  the 
order  of  her  most  higldy  favoured  state,— the  day  had 
gone  for  ever  in  which  the  Roman  could  burn  with 
pride  and  pleasure  as  he  contemplated  the  successes 
of  the  Republic,  of  which  it  was  each  man's  greatest 
boast  to  be  a  citizen.    Even  before  the  rise  of  Augustus, 
few^  thinking  Romans,  however  patriotic,  could  conceal 
from   themselves   the   fact,   that   Roman   virtue   and 
Roman  success  had  found  a  common  grave  in  vice  and 
luxury.     The  days  of  high  aspirations  and  of  noble 
deeds  of  patriotism  had  now  gone  by.      Men  who, 
under  more  happy  auspices,  might  have  been  capable 
of  grt^at  actions,  sank  into  a  life  of  idle,  empty  frivolity, 
of  mere  dilettanteit^m  in  religion  a^  in  ai-t,  in  morality 


;-> 


? 


HORACE  AND  JUVENAL. 


48 


JUVENAL. 


49 


as  in  politics.  These  nielanclioly  features  of  decay 
may  easily  he  traced  in  all  the  authors  of  the  age, 
scarcely  veiled  by  a  supertieial  appearance  of  pride  in 
the  crreat  events  of  their  day,  and  of  exultation  in  the 
fortune  and  the  destiny  of  Kome.  Men  felt  that  the  old 
order  of  things  had  passed  away,  and  felt  it  without 
regret.  Like  the  lotos-eaters  of  Tennyson,  they  were 
content  to  live  on  without  honour,  so  they  might  exist 
iu  luxury  and  sluggish  peace  ;  they  said  hi  their  lives, 
though  possibly  not  in  their  words,— 

»  Let  UB  Bwear  an  oath,  and  keep  it  with  an  equal  mind, 
III  the  lioUow  Lotos-land  to  live,  and  lie  reclined  ^^ 
Oil  the  hill^  like  gods,  together,  careless  of  mankind. 

The  day  for   action— for   doing  and   daring— had 
crone  by ;  and  now  the  dead  calm  of  the  Pax  Romana 
tvas  spread  over  the  face  of  the  earth.     Already  in 
its  moral  and  intellectual  bearing  the  condemnation 
passed  by  Tacitus  on  his  fellow-countrymen  of  a  later 
age  was  justified.     ^'  They  make  a  desert  and  they  call 
it^ Peace."     Hence,  feeling  the  emptiness  of  their  own 
times,  the  total  absence  of  any  tield  in  which  a  spirit 
cast  in  tlie  old  heroic  mould  could  find  a  worthy  sphere 
of  action,  it  was  impossible  that  the  writers  of  the 
acre  shoidd  find  scope  for  any  thoughts  of  really  noble 
import.     Most  assuredly  is  it  true  that  the  literature 
of  any  period  can  have  no  life  except  that  which  it 
may  have  as  the  echo  of  the  active  existence  of  the 
nation.     In  such   nations,   then,   as  are  destitute   of 
political  life,  no  literature  of  any  noble  kind  can  exist, 
unless  the  poet  is  borne  back  in  his  imagination  to 


\ 


w 


times  when  decay  had  not  yet  tainted  the  national 
growth.    And  tliis  is  the  only  kind  of  inspiration  which 
we  can  find  in  the  writers  of  the  age  of  Augustus. 
The  burden  of  Horace,   Virgil,  and  Livy  is  Si  the 
same.     "  Who  shall  restore  us  the  years  that  are  past  1 " 
By  no  author  was  this  sentiment  more  distinctly  enun- 
ciated than  by  Livy,  when  in  the  preface  to  his  '  His- 
tory '  he  sets  forth  his  reasons  for  recounting  the  past 
glories  of  Eome,  and  for  telling  the  tale  of  the  founda- 
tion and  spread  of  her  rule.     "  One  reward  of  this 
my  toil,"  he  says,  "  will  be  that,  for  a  time  at  all  events, 
I  shall  be  enabled  to  forget  the  desolation  which  hal 
come    upon   our  nation  — our  nation   that  has  now 
reached  a  pitch  of  iniquity  at  which  it  can  bear  neither 
its  vices  nor  yet  the  remedies  for  them."     In  Vir<nl 
though  we  shall  not  be  able  to  find  in  his  poems  any^'so 
distinct  assertion  of  the  effeteness  of  the  age  in  which 
he  lived,  we  may  yet  distinctly  trace  the  effects  of  the 
same  despairing  acquiescence  in  the  state  of  his  country- 
men, the  same  hopelessness  of  their  political  future. 
It  is  always  to  the  Past  that  Virgil  points  back  when 
he  would  arouse  the  enthusiasm  of  his  hearers  for  the 
theme  he  lays  before  them.     The  age  of  the  seven 
aiicient  kings,  of  the  mighty  Fabii,  of  the  Fabricii,  of 
the  Decii,  and  Gracchi,  that  was  the  age  on  which  the 
Poet  might  look  back  with  mingled  pride  and  rever- 
ence ;  but  with  the  death  of  Cato  a  veil  of  separation 
must  be  drawn  between  themes  that  inspire  hope,  and 
joy,  and  the  poet's  sacred  song,  and  themes  which  may 
not  be  touched.     The  present  generation  might  indeed 
be  conscious  of  having  hurled  back  the  threatened  in- 
A.  c.  vol.  xiiL  jj 


^ 


If 


"^S* 


50 


JUVENAL, 


\ 


HORACE  AND  JUVENAL^ 


51 


vasion  of  the  swarthy  Egyptian  queen,  of  having 
crushed  Antonius,  and  dashed  the  pirate  Sextus  to  the 
ground.  But  were  not  the  latter  hrothers  ?  and  was 
it  not  a  disgrace,  worse  than  any  victory  could  blot  out, 
that  the  great  Rome  of  IMars  and  Romulus  should  have 
tremhled  before  a  Avoman's  threats  ?— should  have  heard 
with  panic  fear  the  barking  of  Anubis,  and  the  shak- 
ing of  the  rattle  of  the  File  1 

And  now  the  victory  had  come,  but  it  had  been 
followed    by   a    universal    peace,    containing   within 
itself  the  seeds  of  a  listless  disi^ase— a  disease  that  was 
already  chilling  the  whole  body  politic  into  a  lethargy, 
where  no  lofty  resolve  could  be  developed,  no  patriotic 
aspirations  had  any  room.     It  is  in  the  Georgics  only, 
in  which,  as  the  apostle  of  the  country,  he  inculcates 
the  homely  virtues  of  a  farmer's  life,  that  Virgil  is 
able  to  emancipate  himself  from  the  melanclioly  with 
which  he  is  elsewhere  weighed  down,  and  holds  out  to 
the  Romans  of  his  own  day  the  hope  of  emulating,  to 
some  extent  at  least,  the  noble  characteristics  of  their 

forefathers. 

The  effect   of  the  same  political   phenomena  was 
somewhat  dilTerent  on  Horace,  even  as  his  character 
ditfered  from  that  of  Virgil.     In  him  there  was  none 
of  that  enthusiasm  which  might  have  led  Virgil,  had 
he  lived  in  the  twelfth  century,  to  found  an  order  of 
monks  or  of  knighthood.     In  Horace  sound  common- 
sense  took  the  place  of  liigh-ilown  romance.     Himself 
in  his  philosophy  a  professed   Epicurean,   he  could, 
under  no  circumstiinces,  have  inspired  any  real  love  or 
admiration  for  the  good  and  holy.     But  besides  aU 


this,  his  moral  and  physical  surroundings  were  such  as 
would  have  kept  back  a  man  of  far  purer  and  more 
intense  feelings  from  any  stirring  exhortation  to 
patriotism,  or  stinging  rebuke  of  frivolity  and  vice. 
And  so,  in  a  court  which,  beyond  all  other  courts,  was 
given  up  wholly  and  entirely  to  the  pursuit  of  the  fleet- 
ing follies  of  the  hour ;  in  which  all  attempts  to 
shake  off  the  golden  chains  of  pleasure  were  met  with 
open  ridicule  or  half-contemptuous  praise ;  in  which 
the  main  object  of  each  man's  life  was  to  float  pleasantly, 
if  listlessly,  with  the  current ;  where  each  day  that  had 
witnessed  the  discovery  of  some  new  path  of  pleasure 
was  accounted  well  spent, — a  court  poet  and  a  courtier 
such  as  Horace  had  not  the  energy  to  strike  out  manfuUy 
against  the  stream.  One  of  the  main  aims  of  Augustus 
was  to  hide  the  fetters  in  which  he  had  bound  the 
nobles  of  the  land, — to  mould  the  Romans  by  persua- 
sion and  example,  rather  than  to  force  their  wills  by 
direct  command.  Ko  ruler  than  he  ever  knew  better 
how  seldom  it  is  that  men  will  fight  to  retain  the  sub- 
stance, if  only  the}^  are  allowed  to  enjoy  the  form  and 
shadow  of  that  which  they  profess  to  admire  and  to 
love ;  how  much  easier  it  always  is  to  govern  men  by 
the  dictates  of  fashion  and  custom,  than  to  establish 
a  custom  by  law  and  ordinance.  In  this  endeavour 
to  lead  those  whom  a  less  shrewd  politician  might 
have  attempted  to  coerce,  he  found  a  most  valuable 
coadjutor  in  Horace.  Contented  by  disposition,  by 
education  a  man  of  the  world  rather  than  a  philo- 
sopher ;  a  man  with  few  pretensions  to  profound 
learning  or  any  great  insight  into  the  tenets  of  even 


P 


52 


JUVENAL. 


the  Epicurccan  pliilosophy,  of  which  he  was  a  professed 
adherent, — Horace  was  yet  sufficiently  versed  in  the 
commonplaces  of  the   sect   to   be   able  to  clothe  in 
qua-d   philosophical    language    his    disparagement    of 
political  anil)ili()n,  or  his  sneers  at  any  indecorous  vice 
or  folly,  while  inculcating  the  precepts  of  the  gardens, 
and  setting  forth  the  advantages  of  an  unambitious  ]ife, 
undisturbed  by  any  outbursts  of  temper  or  of  mis- 
placed zeal,  a  pursuit  of  pleasure  chastened  by  temper, 
and   bounded    by  the   dictates   of  moderation.       He 
was  thus  peculiarly  fitted  to  be  the  preacher  of  this 
new  life  of  Home,  of  this  golden  age  of  tinsel  and 
mediocrity.     He  was  ever  ready  at  the  earliest  hint  of 
Maecenas  to  divert,  by  a  pleasant  laugh,  any  threatened 
outburst  of  political  ambition  or  republicanism  that 
might  yet  linger  about  the  court  of  his  patron,  or  to 
scoU'down  any  offensive  and  unbecoming  display  of  old- 
iiishioned  boorishness,  or  of  vulgar  ostentation.     Did 
Iccius  prepare  an  expedition  to  the  golden  East  to  in- 
crease the  store  in  his  overflowing  treasury, — he  was 
pleasantly  reminded  liow  much  more  choiccAvorthy  was 
the  study  of  Socrates  than  any  pomp  of  barbaric  splen- 
dour ;  did  Hirpinus  or  Grosi)hus  yearn  to  play  a  more 
active  part  in  the  politics  of  the  day,  or  seem  to  gi-ow 
restless  under  his  golden  chain, — the  j)oet  was  ready  to 
contrast  the  tpiiet  happiness  of  a  voluptuary's  life  with 
the  uncertainty  and  toil  of  that  of  the  warrior  or  poli- 
tician, filled  as  they  were   with  anxieties  and  cares 
which  the  divine  race  of  lulus  was  alone  fitted  to  sup- 
port.    Is'or  was  Horace  less  ready  to  crush  with  a  sar- 


J 


> 


HORACE  AND  JUVENAL. 


53 


casm  bordering  on  the  licence  of  pasquinade  the  folly 
of  Rufillus,  or  the  senseless  extravagance  of  the  2^<^t''- 
venu  ^asidienus.  Even  when,  taking  a  more  serious 
view  of  life,  he  wrote  as  a  moralist,  or  even  as  a  reli- 
gious reformer,  it  is  difficidt  to  believe  that  he  is  not 
acting  a  part.  When  we  read  in  one  page  "  that  the 
gods  live  a  life  careless  of  mankind,  and  that  if  nature 
works  any  wondrous  woe  on  earth,  it  is  not  they  who 
send  it  down  from  heaven  in  their  WTath,"  there  is  a 
hollow  ring  in  the  words, — 

"  Ye  Romans,  ye,  though  guiltless,  shall 
Dread  expiation  make  for  all 

The  laws  your  sires  have  broke, 
Till  ye  repair  with  loving  pains 
The  gods'  dilapidated  fanes. 

Their  statues  grimed  with  smoke  ! 

Ye  rule  the  world  because  that  ye 
Confess  the  gods'  supremacy  ; 

Hence  all  your  grandeur  grows  ! 
The  gods,  in  vengeance  for  neglect, 
Hesperia's  wretched  land  have  wrecked 

Beneath  unnumbered  woes." 

—in.  Od.  vi.  (T.  Martin.) 

The  rhythm,  indeed,  may  be  perfect,  and  the  expres- 
sions such  as  to  leave  nothing  to  be  desired ;  but  we 
miss  that  imprcssiveness  which  nothing  but  the  writer's 
faith  in  what  he  says  can  give,  however  grandly  and 
sonorously  his  verses  may  roll  in  our  ears.  While 
Horace  is  thus  always  a  trifler  on  the  surface  of 
life,  opening  up  no  deep  questions,  seldom  really  in 


54 


JUVENAL. 


HORACE  AND  JUVENAL. 


55 


earnest  either  in  praise  or  blame,  Juvenal  goes  far 
deeper,  and  is  infinitely  more  vigorous  and  manly, 
both  in  his  thouglits  and  in  his  language.  Nor  is  the 
cause  of  this  far  to  seek.  In  the  days  of  Horace,  des- 
potism, tempered  by  the  exquisite  skill  of  Augustus, 
seldom  if  ever  wounded  the  susceptibilities  of  the  most 
jealous  ;  the  forms  of  republicanism  were  carefully  kept 
up  ;  and  it  was  ostensibly  as  the  servant  of  the  people 
and  of  the  senate  that  the  emperor  guided  the  wheels 
of  the  state.  And  yet  in  that  earlier  day,  even  had 
the  real  facts  of  personal  rule  been  more  openly  dis- 
played, people  would  still  have  acquiesced  in  them  with 
scarcely  a  murmur.  AVearied  out  with  the  endless 
and  bloody  disputes  of  half  a  century,  there  were  few 
Romans  who  were  not  r(\ady  to  purchase  rest  and  free- 
dom from  the  chances  of  revolution  at  any  cost  which 
did  not  bring  with  it  a  direct  loss  of  personal  dignity 
or  comfort.  As  long  as  he  was  allowed  to  give  an 
ostensibly  independent  vote  in  the  divisions  of  the 
senate,  to  force  his  advice  on  the  ears  of  the  emperor, 
and  even  to  make  a  show  of  calling  him  to  account  for 
his  action,  the  descendant  of  the  Fabii  or  Cornelii  was 
satisfied  to  wear  in  silence  the  badge  of  political 
slavery.  Even  the  dregs  of  the  city  population  were 
gratified  when  their  consent  was  asked  (as  Augustus 
took  care  that  it  always  should  be  asked)  before  the 
consul  was  finally  invested  with  the  insignia  of  office, 
albeit  they  knew  too  well  that  that  consent  could  not 
be  refused.  Best  was  the  cry  of  the  nobles  and  of  the 
people,  and  rest  it  was  tiiat  Augustus  was  able  and 
willing  to  provide. 


**  For  ease  he  doth  the  gods  implore 

Who,  tossing  on  the  wide 

iEgean  billows,  s«je3  the  black  clouds  hide 
The  moon,  and  the  sure  stars  appear  no  more 

The  shipman  s  course  to  guide. 
For  ease  the  sons  of  Thracia  cry, 

In  battle  uncontrolled  ; 

For  ease  the  graceful-quivered  Median  bold, — 
That  ease  which  puri)le,  Grosphus,  cannot  buy, 

Nor  wealth  of  gems  or  gold. 

For  hoarded  treasure  cannot  keep 

Disquietudes  at  bay. 

Nor  can  the  consul's  lictor  drive  away 
The  brood  of  dark  solicitudes  that  sweep 

Round  gilded  ceilings  gay."  —II-  Od.  vi. 

But  if  the  great  Augustus  once  take  his  stand  on  the 
Capitol,  and  look  forth  with  benignant  aspect  on  the 
expectant  world,  all  shall  at  once  be  changed,  and  the 
desire  of  every  heart  shall  be  satisfied  to  the  fulL 

«  While  Cajsar  rules,  no  civil  jar 
Nor  violence  our  ease  shall  mar, 
Nor  rage,  which  sword  for  carnage  whets, 
And  feuds  'twixt  hapless  towns  begets. 

And  we,  on  working  days  and  all 

Our  days  of  feast  and  festival. 

Shall  with  our  wives  and  children  there, 

Ai)proaching  first  the  gods  in  prayer. 

Whilst  jovial  Bacchus'  gifts  we  pour. 

Sing,  as  our  fathers  sang  of  yore. 

To  Lybian  flutes,  which  answer  round 

Of  chiefs  for  mighty  worth  renowned— 

Of  Troy,  Ancliises,  and  the  line 

Of  Venus,  evermore  divine."        —IV.  Od.  xiv. 


n 


56 


JUVENAL. 


UORACE  AND  JUVENAL. 


57 


But  this  repose  could  only  be  purchased  at  the  cost 
of  a  neglect  of  the  most  important  events  of  the  day— a 
price  which  was  indeed  willingly  paid.  And  while 
bestowing  on  them  a  careless  approval  or  a  mere  senti- 
mental condemnation,  the  writers  of  the  time  were  sat- 
isHed  if  they  could  rouse  themselves  into  a  forced  and 
but  half-real  entliusiasm  for  the  history  of  the  glorious 
past.  Their  chains,  wreathed  with  flowers,  were  not 
felt ;  they  had  hearkened  to  the  voice  of  the  charmer, 
and  the  whole  soul  of  Eome  was  luUed  into  a  repose 
fatal  to  any  greatness  of  aim  or  steadiness  of  purpose. 

In   the   years  that  elapsed  between   the   time   of 
Horace  and  that  of  Juvenal,  a  great  change  had  come 
over  the  political  horizon.     The  cruelty  and  treachery 
of  Tiberius  had  succeeded  to  the  frankness  and  affa- 
bility with  which  Augustus  had  always  made  it  his 
aim  to  amuse  his  subjects,  or  rather  his  equals,  as  he 
delighted  to  call  the  patricians  of  Eome.      But  the 
cruelty  and   treachery  of   Tiberius   might  be   borne, 
as  being  the  manifestation  of  a  character  which,  how- 
ever misdirected  and  depraved,  was  yet  strong,  and  had 
a  foundation  of  qualities  that  might  command  respect 
It  was  less  easy  to  bear  with  the  caprices  of  Caligula 
and  his  herd   of  actors,  gladiators,   and    prostitutes. 
Claudius,  though  less  depraved  than  either  of  his  pre- 
decessors,   could   neither   engage    the    affections    nor 
deserve  the  esteem  of  his  people,  and  died  unlamented 
and  unavenged  when  his  wife  sent  him 

"  A  palsied,  bedrid  sot,  with  gummy  eyes 
And  slavering  lips,  heels  foremost  to  the  skies." 

—Sat.  vi.  622. 


Even  the  caprice  and  tyranny  of  Nero  were  less  insup- 
portable than  the  senseless  folly  of  a  prince  who  could 
be  so  lost  to  all  sense  of  dignity,  and  of  that  decorum 
which  was  in  a  Roman's  eyes  so  indispensable  to  the 
good  name  of  any  public  character,  as  to  sing  openly 
on  the  stage  amid  troops  of  hired  actors  and  pub- 
lic slaves,  and  compete  with  the  lowest  foreigners 
for  the  applause  of  the  mob  of  Athens  or  of  Eome. 
How  could  even  that  majesty  which  surrounds  a  throne 
protect  an  emperor,  if  his  every  action  proclaimed  him 
fit  only  for  a  position  that  the  very  meanest  of  his 
subjects  might  hardly  count  an  honourable  way  of 
life? 

"  Lo  !  these  the  arts,  the  studies  that  engage 
The  world's  great  master  !  on  a  foreign  stage 
To  prostitute  his  voice  for  base  renown. 
And  ravish  from  the  Greeks  a  parsley  crown." 

—Sat.  vii.  224. 

The  disgraceful  scenes  which  followed  thickly  on 
each  other  during  the  brief  reigns  of  Galba,  Otho,  and 
Vitellius,  could  not  but  open  the  eyes  of  the  blindest 
and  most  self-complacent  to  the  real  facts  of  the  case. 
No  man  could  now  even  endeavour  to  persuade  him- 
self that  he,  as  a  Eoman,  was  in  any  way  less  a  slave 
to  the  emperor  than  the  meanest  sycophant  of  Greece 
or  the  most  uncultured  Mauritanian  boor.  Hence 
many  who  would  have  been  satisfied  with  any  salve  to 
t^ieir  dignity,  however  vain — with  any  veil  to  cover  the 
iron  hand  that  ruled  them,  however  transparent  that 
veil  might  be — felt  themselves  compelled,  now  that  the 
last  shred  of  disguise  that  had  served  to  conceal  their 


r 


58 


JUVENAL, 


HORACE  AND  JUVENAL. 


50 


real  state  liad  been  rudely  torn  away,  to  vindicate  their 
honour  by  denunciations  of  tyranny,  if  not  by  plots 
against  the  tyrant.      Tlie  gilding  which   had  decked 
the  bars  of  the  cage  had  been  worn  away,  and  the 
prisoner,  though  not  more  closely  confined  than  before, 
l)eat  his  wings  against  prison  walls  whose  undisguised 
restraint  now  first  allowed  its  pressure  to  be  felt     It 
was  this  changed  feeling  that  in  part  brought  about 
the  change  in  the  views  on  politics  taken  by  Juvenal 
as  contrasted  with  Horace.     lI(Hace,  as  par  excellence 
the  court  poet,  conspired  with  the  head  of  the  court  to 
make  everything  run  pleasantly,  to  smooth  down  all 
asperities.     To  ex])atiate  on  what  was  pleasant  was  his 
cue,  and  to  dwell  rather  on  the  minor  follies  of  his 
neighbours  than  on  those  vices  which  might  bring  real 
discredit  on  the  time  and  on  the  government.     Juvenal, 
thougli  he  lived  at  a  time  in  many  respects  more  de^ 
graded  and  less  refined  than  that  of  Horace,  had  yet  this 
advantage,  that  he  plainly  saw  the  vices  under  which 
men  laboured,  aud  did  not  shrink  from  naming  them 
openly,  and  from  exhibiting  them  in  their  undisguised 
hideousness— the  first  distressing  but  necessary  step 
towards  compelling  men  to  apply  the  suitable  reme- 
dies.    This  seems  to  be  the  reason  why  Juvenal  has 
frequently  been  stigmatised  as  an  immoral  poet,  and 
unfavourably  contnisteil  in  this  respect  with  Horace- 
most  unjustly,  in  our  opinion.     The   truth  is  more 
nearly  this,  that  Juvenal,  from  his  very  hatred  of  vice, 
is  more  frequently  led  into  coarseness  of  exi>ression 
than  Horace  ;  while  the  latter  seems  sometimes  almost 
to  sympathise  with  vice  while  he  stigmatises  it,  or  at 


all  events  to  satirise  more  severely  what  was  repulsive 
or  indecorous  in  the  clownish  folly  of  the  boor,  than 
the  refined  but  not  less  mischievous  gallantry  of  the 
man  of  fashion.     In  short,  he  would  doubtless  have  ad- 
hered to  that  most  unfortunate  dictum  of  Burke,  when 
he  assigned  as  a  reason  for  regretting  the  departure  of 
the  age  of  chivalry  the  fact,  that  in  those  days  "  vice 
itself  had  lost  half  its  evil  by  losing  all  its  grossness." 
But  we  should  be  very  wrong  in  attributing  this 
outward  f\iultiness  of  expression  to  any  inferiority  in 
his  moral  sense ;  rather  let  us  say  that,  while  Horace 
was  not  wholly  unwilling  to  strip  vice  of  all  its  gross- 
ness, though  to  do  so  was  to  present  it  in  a  more  baneful 
if  less  repulsive  form,  his  rival,  with  truer  purpose  and 
more  honest  judgment,  chose  rather  in  his  portraiture  of 
it  to  add  to  than  to  detract  from  the  loathsome  disease 
that  had  aroused  his  indignation.      The  same  action 
might  thus  be  represented  under  two  wholly  different 
aspects.     For  while  Horace,  by  the  glamour  of  his  un- 
rivalled art,  would  present  to  his  hearers  a  pleasant  and 
not  ungraceful  peccadillo,  Juvenal  would  dash  on  a 
few  touches  with  a  master-hand,  which  would  startle 
by  the  hideousness  of  crime  where  we  had  before  seen 
only  a  venial   offence.      Perhaps    some   one    or   two 
instances,  culled  at  random,  will  make  our  meaning 
plainer.     For  example,  when  Hoi-ace  would  lay  claim 
to  religious  feeling,  and  takes  upon  himself  to  censure 
the  irreligion  of  the  age,  it  is  difficult  to  persuade  one- 
self that  he  is  not  writing  to  order ;  and  even  where  he 
proclaims  the  sovereignty  of  heaven,  and  rebukes  the 
godlessness  of  the  times  as  the  source  of  all  the  woes 


I 


\t 


'0,. 

I 


GO 


JUVEXAL. 


HORACE  AND  JUVENAL. 


61 


of  Eome,  he  docs  not  conceal  his  belief  in  a  blind 
fate  superior  to  Jove  hinist'lf,  driving  him  on,  and 
mocking  the  d«\sires  of  men ;  nor  can  he  entirely  divest 
himself  of  a  certain  sympathy  with  those  who  would 
palliate  their  sins  by  accusing  the  injustice  of  heaven. 
Juvenal,  on  the  other  hand,  earnestly  proclaims  the 
guidance  of  an  omniscient  and  benevolent  deity  or 
deities.     To  them  let  man  trust  his  fortunes  : — 

"  Tlieir  thoughts  are  wise,  their  dispensations  just, 
What  best  may  profit  or  delight  they  know, 
And  real  good  for  fancied  bliss  bestow  : 
With  eyes  of  }>ity  they  our  frailties  scan  ; 
More  dear  to  them  than  to  himself  is  man." 

—Sat.  X.  347. 

Again,  Horace  would  laugh  at  conjugal  infidelity,  and 
dissuade  from  it  as  often  dangerous  in  its  results  ;  yet 
he  appeals  to  no  high  nioial  law,  but  ratlier  aims  his 
shafts  at  tlie  inconvenience  of  detection  than  at  the 
sin  of  success.  How  diilerent  the  feeling  which 
prompted  the  line, — 

"  Trebonius  caught  must  lose  both  fame  and  name,"  — 
from  that  which  moved  Juvenal  when  he  WTote, — 

"  Grant  me  a  soul 
That  reckons  death  a  blessing,  yet  can  bear 
Existence  nobly  with  its  weight  of  care  ; 
That  anger  and  desire  alike  restrains, 
And  counts  Alcides'  toils  and  cruel  pains 
Superior  far  to  bancpiets,  cruel  nights. 
And  all  the  Assyrian  monarch's  soft  delights." 

In  the  former  passage  we  have  indeed  sound  advice, 


as  far  as  it  goes,  but  the  motive  merely  such  as  migbt 
be  supplied  by  the  most  heartless  man  of  the  world — 
such  as  Major  Pendennis  might  have  preached  to  his 
nephew  in  Pall  Mall ;  while  in  the  latter  we  find  pre- 
cepts of  morality  set  forth  as  high  and  disinterested  as 
those  which  guided  the  life  of  Zeno  or  Parmenides,  of 
Socrates  or  Plato. 

When  we  come  to  compare  these  two  writers  as  poets, 
it  will  be  no  easy  matter  to  light  upon  a  common  stan- 
dard by  which  to  measure  their  respective  merits.  No 
two  men  could  well  be  found  whose  geniua  is  so  com- 
pletely different.  Juvenal  is  a  poet  by  virtue  of  his 
fierce  passions  ;  of  a  loathing  for  vice  which  bears  him, 
as  it  were,  beyond  himself,  and  drives  him,  fit  or  unfit, 
to  pour  forth  his  soul  in  a  torrent  of  eloquent  invective, 
which  cannot  but  bear  the  most  phlegmatic  hearer 
along  with  it. 

*'  If  nature  will  not  verse  command, 
Still  Indignation  shall  at  least  indite, 
Such  lines  as  I  or  Cluvienus  write." 

—Sat.  L  80. 

Juvenal,  in  short,  is  a  poet  far  more  of  the  heart  than 
of  the  brain.  Surrounded  on  all  sides  by  openly  tri- 
umphant vice,  while  he  saw  the  righteous  man  every- 
where begging  his  bread ;  writing  amid  scenes  which 
could  not  but  make  his  heart  bleed  for  his  country, 
amid  tragedies,  at  the  hearing  of  which  a  man's  ears 
might  well  tingle, — Juvenal  had  neither  the  time  nor 
the  inclination  to  bestow  such  care  on  his  writings  as  is 
necessary  to  all  poetry  before  it  can  really  claim  the  ad- 
miration due  to  perfect  execution.    Horace  might  w^ell 


l! 


y 


62 


JUVENAL. 


HORACE  AND  JUVENAL. 


63 


turn  and  turn  again  each  metaplior,  and  polish  to  the 
utmost  those  sweet  love-songs  which  he  alone  could 
Avrite  ;  and  pause  and  pause  again  till  he  had  expressed 
each  trite  observation  on  human  life,  each  panegyric  on 
the  old  K«'pul)lic,  in  language  that  can  never  be  sur- 
passed. Fal)ius,  Fabricius,  and  Hannibal,  Alcides  and 
liomulus,  Avere  no  eager  claimants  for  praise  or  blame  ; 
the  fount  of  Bandusium,  or  the  golden  locks  of  Pyrrha's 
hair,  were  not  the  less  bright  because  the  odes  in  their 
lionour  lay  year  after  year  in  tlie  poet's  desk.  But 
how  could  one  whose  soul  had  indited  the  indignant 
j)atriotism  of  the  third  satire,  or  the  lofty  sarcasm  of 
the  sixth,  wliile  he,  day  after  day,  looked  on  the  flag- 
rant immorality  of  Roman  society,  bear  to  suppress  the 
lines  in  which  he  scathes — 

"  Tlie  slave-bom  slave-bred  vagabond  of  Nile, 

Crispinus,  both  in  birth  and  manners  vile. 

Pacing  in  i)omp  with  cloak  of  Tyrian  dye, 

Changed  oft  a  day  for  needless  luxury." 

—Sat.  i.  26. 
Or  again, — 

"  The  rich  dame,  who  stanched  her  husband's  thirst 
With  generous  wine,  but — drugi^'ed  it  deeply  first ! 
And  now,  more  dext'rous  than  Locusta,  shows 
Her  country  friends  the  beverage  to  compose. 
And,  'midst  the  curses  of  the  indi'niant  thron^T, 
Bears,  in  broad  day,  the  spotted  corpse  along." 

—Sat.  i.  69. 

We  should  thus  be  looking  in  his  writings  for  what 
Juvenal  never  ])rofessed  to  give  us,  if  we  expected  to 
find  in  them  anything  that  could  be  compared  to  the 


consummate  art  of  the  Odes  of  his  predecessor.  It  was 
not  such  minstrelsy  that  Juvenal  had  either  the  wish 
or  the  power  to  imitate  ;  it  was  only  as  a  satirist  that 
he  took  Horace  as  his  model : — 

"  And  shall  I  feel  that  crimes  like  these  require 

The  avenging  strains  of  the  Venusian  lyre, 

And  not  pursue  them  ? " 

—Sat  i.  52. 

Yet  even  here  it  is  not  easy  to  compare  the  two 
authors.  Their  aims  and  method  were  wholly  differ- 
ent. Indeed,  as  far  as  we  can  judge  from  the  descrip- 
tion we  have  of  Lucilius's  manner,  and  from  the  frag- 
ments of  his  writings  that  remain,  it  is  to  him  far 
more  than  to  Horace  tliat  we  should  compare  Juvenal. 

Their  respective  methods  have  thus  been  well  de- 
scribed and  contrasted  by  Persius  : — 

"  Yet  old  Lucilius  never  feared  the  times. 
But  lashed  the  city  and  dissected  crimes  ; 
On  Lupus,  Mutius,  poured  his  rage  by  name. 
And  broke  his  grinders  on  their  bleeding  fame. 
And  yet  arch  Horace,  when  he  strove  to  mend. 
Probed  all  the  foibles  of  his  smiling  friend  ; 
Played  lightly  round  anid  round  the  peccant  part. 
And  won,  unfelt,  an  entrance  to  his  heart ; 
Well  skilled  the  follies  of  the  crowd  to  trace, 
And  sneer  with  gay  good-humour  in  his  face." 

—Silt.  i.  115. 

"With  few  exceptions,  the  Satires  of  Horace  can 
hardly  be  said  to  deserve  the  title  that  is  given  them. 
They  are  rather  witty  discourses  on  the  manners  of  the 
day,  or  on  the  topics  current  in  the  town,  written  with 


64 


JUVENAL. 


no  definiteness  of  aim,  but  passing  on  from  'point  to 
point  jis  fancy  led.  Thus  in  one  page  Horace  gives  an 
amusing  account  of  his  education,  in  the  next  he  in- 
dulges in  a  good-natured  laugh  at  the  philosophers  of 
the  time;  again  returning  to  himself,  he  tickles  our 
fancy  with  an  account  of  his  journey  to  Brundusium, 
or  of  his  adventure  with  a  bore  in  the  Sacred  Way. 
lUit  nowhere  docs  he  aim  at  being  more  than  a  good- 
natured  if  sliglitly  cynical  critic  ;  and  he  laughed  at 
vice  as  being  vulgar  and  ungentlemanly,  not  as  a  foul 
stain  on  human  nature.  To  Juvenal,  on  the  other 
hand,  we  can  most  aptly  apply  his  own  description  of 
Lucilius,  and  indeed  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  ono 
more  appropriate  to  tliese  poems  : — 

"  But  when  Lucilius,  fired  with  virtuous  rage, 
Waves  his  keen  falchion  o'er  a  guilty  age, 
The  conscious  villain  shudders  at  his  sin, 
And  burning  blushes  speak  the  pangs  witliin  ; 
Cohl  drops  of  sweat  from  every  member  roll. 
And  growing  terrors  harrow  up  his  soul." 

—Sat.  i.  165. 


I 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MORALS   AT    ROME. 

The  avarice  and  venality  everywhere  rampant  at  Rome 
—the  influx  of  new  customs  and  of  new  religions— the 
deterioration  of  the  old  Roman  type  of  character,  and 
the  substitution  for  it  of  an  insidious  compound  of  re- 
finement and  hypocrisy,  of  mental  culture  combined 
with  moral  degradation— the  sudden  rise  of  low-bom 
foreigners  to  the  highest  places  in  the  Empire  through 
a  vile  pandering  to  the  appetites  of  their  rulers— the 
growth  of  a  spurious  philosophy,  which,  under  a  spe- 
cious show  of  morality,  tended  to  obliterate  the  eternal 
distinctions  between  right  and  wrong,— such  are  some 
of  the  main  faults  of  his  age  which  it  was  Juvenal's  self- 
appointed  task  to  lash  with  no  sparing  hand.     Of  all 
the  sights  which  met  his  gaze  at  Rome,  there  is  not  one 
that  seems  to  have  jarred  more  sharply  on  his  whole 
nature  than  the   high   and  utteriy  undeserved  posi- 
tion reached  by  more  than  one  foreigner,  either  him- 
self an  emancipated  slave,  or  if  not  this,  at  least  the 
son  of  one  who  had  held- such  a  condition,  by  the 
most  ignoble  of  aU  roads.     Conservative  to  the  back- 


^S- 


A.  c.  vol  xiiL 


B 


66 


JUVENAL. 


"bone,  and  a  true  Roman  in  sentiment  and  hy  l)irth,  it 
is  clear  that  Juvenal  is  speaking  straight  from  his  lieart 
when  he  denounces  the  affected  manners  and  insolent 
assurance  of  Crispinus — "  the  slave-born  slave-bred 
vagabond  of  Nile" — or  the  ostentatious  display  of  his 
newly-acquired  riches  by  one 

"  Thai  ott  since  manhooa  first  appeared 
Has  trimmed  th'  exuberance  of  his  sounding  beard  ; " 

—Sat.  i.  25. 

winning  their  way  upwards  to  wealth  and  power,  not 
by  force  of  statesmanship  or  a  fine  sense  of  honour — 
by  the  judge's  discrimination  or  the  soldier's  courage 
— but  by  pleasing  manners,  and  by  their  insight  into 
the  mysteries  of  the  kitchen  and  of  the  cellar,  of 
the  theatre  and  of  the  circus.  These  foreign  courtiers 
pointed  out  a  road  to  affluence  and  dignity  which  their 
Eoman  competitors  were  not  slow  to  follow.  Besides, 
this  was  the  only  course  by  which  a  Eoman  of  noble 
birth  might  hope  to  be  permitted  to  live  on  in  safety, 
and  preserve  his  family  from  destruction.  Honest  ad- 
vice— the  outspoken  opinion  of  a  friendly  censor — was 
fatal  at  Csesar's  court.  So  Crispus  knew.  He,  wise  in 
time,  dragged  out  a  life  of  comfort,  if  without  hono\ir 
or  self-esteem :  Crispus, 

"  Of  gentle  manners  and  persuasive  tongue  : 
None  fitter  to  advise  the  lord  of  all, 
Had  that  pernicious  pest,  whom  thus  we  call, 
Allowed  a  friend  to  soothe  his  savage  mood. 
And  give  him  counsel  wise  at  once  and  good. 
But  who  shall  dare  this  liberty  to  take. 
When,  every  word  you  hazard,  life's  at  stake  ? 


I 


^ 


^ 


i 


MORALS  AT  ROME,  67 

Though  but  of  stonny  sunmiers,  showery  springs— 
For  tyrants'  ears,  alas  !  are  ticklish  things. 
So  did  the  good  old  man  his  tongue  restrain  ; 
Nor  strove  to  stem  the  torrent's  force  in  vain. 
Not  one  of  those  who  by  no  fears  deterred. 
Spoke  the  free  soul,  and  truth  to  life  preferred. 
He  temporised — thus  fourscore  summers  fled 
Even  in  that  court,  securely  o'er  his  head." 

—Sat.  iv.  80. 

Yet  even  such  self-debasement  was  not  always  rewarded 
by  success.  The  emperor  of  that  vicious  court  was 
quick  to  suspect  a  superior ;  a  suspicion  to  be  followed 
by  jealousy,  a  jealousy  soon  fatal  to  its  object.  Too 
common,  alas  !  must  have  been  the  fate  of  the  noble  yet 
timorous  citizen,  who,  in  spite  of  all  disguises,  was,  like 
Acilius,  detected,  and  who 

"  Unjustly  fell,  in  early  years, 
A  victim  to  the  tyrant's  jealous  fears  : 
But  long  ere  this  were  hoary  hairs  become 
A  prodigy  among  the  great  at  Rome  ; 
Hence  had  I  rather  own  my  humble  birth, 
Frail  brother  of  the  giant  brood,  to  Earth. 
Poor  youth  !  in  vain  the  ancient  sleight  you  try  ; 
In  vain,  with  frantic  air  and  ardent  eye, 
Fling  every  robe  aside,  and  battle  wage 
With  bears  and  lions  on  the  Alban  stage. 
All  see  the  trick ;  and,  spite  of  Brutus'  skill, 
There  are  who  count  him  but  a  driveller  still ; 
Since,  in  his  days,  it  cost  no  mighty  pains 
To  outwit  a  prince,  with  much  more  beard  than  brains." 

— Sat.  iv.  95. 

Yet  even  more  unendurable  than  the  insolent  airs  of  a 
Crispinus  or  the  ostentatious  wealth  of  Matho,  or  the 


68 


JUVENAL. 


MORALS  AT  ROME. 


69 


many  other  parasites  and  voluptuaries  who  plume 
themselves  on  outshining  the  ancient  families  of  the 
Palatine,  is  the  outrageous  conduct  of  Marius.  He, 
though  found  guilty  of  extortion  in  the  government  of 
his  province,  escaped  all  real  punishment  by  his  shame- 
less bribery  of  the  court ;  and  now,  setting  infamy  at 
defiance,  revels  in  luxury  in  his  easy  exile,  while  his 
late  subjects  and  prosecutors  bemoan  them  over  their 
dearly-bought  victory  of  the  judgment-hall.  With 
him  we  may  well  class  those  perjured  guardians 

"  Who,  proud  with  impious  gains, 
Choke  up  the  streets,  too  narrow  for  tlieir  trains  ; 
Whose  wards  by  want  betrayed  to  crimes  are  led, 
Too  vile  to  iiiuiie,  too  fulsome  to  be  read." 

—Sat.  I  45. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  all,  they  are  able,  by  the  connivance  of 
venal  and  avaricious  judges,  to  brave  it  openly  in  the 
siglit  of  Eome  and  of  the  world  : — 

"  Wouldst  thou  to  honour  and  preferments  climb  ? 
Be  bold  in  mischief,  dare  some  mighty  crime. 
On  guilt's  broad  base  thy  towering  fortunes  raise, 
For  virtue  starves  on  universal  praise." 

—Sat.  i.  72. 

It  is  this  same  avarice  that  has  led  to  the  present  reck- 
less extravagance  of  the  gambling-table  :  gambling, 
which,  though  checked  by  the  strictest  laws,  is  now  so 
prevalent  that  men  go  forth  accompanied  by  their 
stewards  and  treasurers,  prepared  to  stake  their  whole 
livelihood — all  their  family  estates  and  ancient  heir- 
looms— on  the  fall  of  the  dice,  though  they  grudge  the 


cost  of  a  cloak  for  their  slave  who  is  shivering  in  the 
cold.     Even  tlie  ostentation  so  dear  to  the  heart  of 
the  parvenu  is  checked  by  avarice.     But  who  shaU 
wonder  at  this,  seeing  that  it  is  now  according  to  their 
wealth  that  men  take  their  social  position  in  the  state, 
not  according  to  their  Hneage  or  their  noble  qualities  ? 
nay  more,  even  in  the  courts  of  law  it  is  the  same. 
There,  if  anywhere,  one  would  think  that  moral  quali- 
ties  would  rank  first ;  but  no  ! 

"Produce  at  Rome  your  witness  :  let  him  boast 
The  sanctity  of  Berecj-nthia's  host,* 
Of  Numa,  or  of  him,t  whose  zeal  divine 
Snatched  pale  Minerva  from  her  blazing  shrine 
To  search  his  rent-roll  first  the  bench  prepares,' 
His  honesty  employs  their  latest  cares  ; 
What  table  does  he  keep,  what  slaves  maintain, 
And  what,  they  ask,  and  where  is  his  domain  ? 
These  weighty  matters  known,  his  faith  they  rate, 
And  square  his  probity  to  his  estate." 

— Sat.  iii.  137. 
Yet  worse  than  this,  children,  taught  by  their  parents 
to  shun  every  other  vice,  are  actually  brought  up  to 
pursue  this  fault  of  avarice  as  though  it  were  a  praise- 
worthy quality  : — 

"  For  this  grave  vice,  assuming  Virtue's  guise. 
Seems  Virtue's  self  to  undisceming  eyes. 

*  ;*  Berecynthia's  host : "-?.  Cornelius  Scipio  Nasica,  who, 
for  his  great  merits,  and  the  exemplary  conduct  of  his  life,  was 
chosen  by  the  senate  to  escort  the  image  of  Cybele  when  it  was 
brought  from  Pessinus  to  Rome.  Cybele  is  here  called  Bere- 
cynthia,  from  the  name  of  a  mountain  in  Phrygia  where  she  was 
worshipped. 

t  iEneas,  who  rescued  the  Palladium  from  the  flames  of  Troy. 


\ 


70 


JUVENAL, 


MORALS  AT  ROME. 


71 


The  miser  hence  a  frugal  man  tliey  name  ; 
And  hence  they  foUovv  with  their  whole  acclaim 
The  griping  wietcli  who  strictlier  guards  his  store, 
Than  if  the  Hesperian  dragon  kept  the  door. 
Add  that  the  vulgar,  still  a  slave  to  gold, 
The  worthy  in  the  wealthy  man  behold  ; 
And  reiisoning  from  the  fortune  he  has  made, 
Hail  him  a  perfect  master  in  his  trade." 

—Sat.  xiv.  109. 

It  was  to  the  influx  of  Greeks  and  other  foreigners 
that  this  was  to  a  great  extent  due.  These  conquered 
countries  no  doubt  had  brought  in  a  culture  and  refine- 
ment of  manners  quite  new  to  their  victors  ;  but  along 
with  this  culture  were  introduced  a  tmin  of  those  vices 
that  are  almost  invariably  found  among  vanquished 
races—  mean,  low,  sneaking  vices,  very  different  to  those 
prevalent  among  a  harder  and  more  warlike  race,  such  as 
were  their  IJoman  masters.  And  yet,  by  virtue  perhaps 
of  this  very  weakness,  tliey  have  a  strongs  not  to  say 
irresistible,  tendency  to  lead  their  captors  captive,  aud 
stupefy  their  minds  with  the  insinuating  enervating 
poison  which  is  their  essential  character.  This  process 
may  be  traced  recurring  again  and  again  in  the  history 
of  central  Asia,  from  the  earliest  times  to  the  present 
day.  There  one  horde  after  another  descends  from  the 
hill-country,  conquering  the  enervated  inhabitants  of 
the  plains,  only  in  their  own  turn  to  form  part  of  the 
same  cycle  of  deterioration,  decay,  and  subjugation, 
being  ensnared  by  the  luxurious  and  efleminate  cus- 
toms of  those  whom  they  had  vanquished. 

So  now  in  Iiome  the  undent  virtues  of  the  simple 
countrymen  of  Mars,  choked  by  the  overgrowth  of 


foreign  habits  and  of  foreign  morals,  served  but  as  a 
foundation  on  which  these  new-fangled  importations 
might  take  a  firmer  growth,  as  a  substratum  of 
intensity  to  the  pernicious  whole ; — 

"  Whence  shall  those  prodigies  of  vice  be  traced  ? 
From  wealth,  my  friend," — 

from  that  eager,  restless  making  haste  to  be  rich  which 
is  the  peculiar  curse  of  our  day, — a  passion  which, 
strong  by  nature  and  sucked  in  by  children  with  their 
very  mother's  milk,  is  yet  further  fostered  by  the  teach- 
ing of  the  tutor,  by  the  precept  as  by  the  example  of 
the  parent, — as  witness  the  advice  here  enforced  on  a 
son  by  his  own  father : — 

"  Hides,  unguents,  mark  me,  boy,  are  equal  things, 
And  gain  smells  sweet  from  whatsoe'er  it  springs. 
This  golden  sentence,  which  the  powers  of  heaven, 
Which  Jove  himself  might  glory  to  have  given, 
Will  never,  never,  from  your  thoughts,  I  trust, — 
*  None  question  whence  it  comes,  but  come  it  must,' 
This,  when  the  lisping  race  a  farthing  ask. 
Old  women  set  them  as  a  previous  task  ; 
The  wondrous  apophthegm  all  run  to  get, 
And  learn  it  sooner  than  their  alphabet.'* 

What  wonder,  then,  if  the  old  simplicity  of  life, 
that  helped  to  develop  the  virtues  of  honesty,  gener- 
osity, courage,  and  steadfastness  of  purpose,  the  an- 
cient crown  and  glory  of  the  conquering  race  of 
Eomulus,  are  rapidly  vanishing  from  among  us  1  How 
can  we  expect  such  qualities  to  be  cherished,  now  that 
a  man  takes  rank  not  by  his  own  intrinsic  worth,  but 


72 


JUVENAL. 


by  the  amount  of  Ms  account  with  his  banker,  by 
the  number  of  acres  that  he  ownsi  Every  day  you 
may  see  your  slaveling  lord  take  precedence  of  the 
scion  of  some  princely  house,  simply  because  "  more 
ground  to  him  alone  pertains  than  Rome  possessed  in 
Numa's  pious  reign  ! " 

"  Since  then  the  veteran,  whose  brave  breast  was  gored 
By  the  tierce  Pyrrhic  or  Molossian  sword, 
Hardly  received,  for  all  his  service  past. 
And  all  his  wounds,  two  acres  at  the  last. 
The  meed  of  toil  and  blood  !  yet  never  thought 
His  country  thankless  or  his  pains  ill  bought. 
For  then  his  little  glebe,  improved  with  care, 
Largely  supplied,  with  vegetable  fare, 
The°good  old  man,  the  wife  in  childbed  laid. 
And  four  hale  boys  that  round  the  cottage  played, 
Three  free-born,  one  a  slave  ;  while  on  the  boaid 
Huge  porringers,  with  wholesome  pottage  stored. 
Smoked  for  their  elder  brothers,  who  were  now, 
Hungry  and  tired,  expected  from  the  plough. 
Two'acres  wiU  not  now,  so  changed  our  times. 
Afford  a  garden-plot ;  and  hence  our  crimes  ! 
For  not  a  vice  that  taints  the  human  soul 
More  frefpiont  points  the  sword  or  drugs  the  bowl 
Than  the  dire  lust  of  an  *  imtamed  estate.' 
Since  he  who  covets  wealth  disdains  to  wait : 
Law  threatens,  conscience  calls,— yet  on  he  liies, 
And  this  he  silences,  and  that  defies  ; 
Fear,  shame,  he  bears  down  all,  and  with  loose  rem 
Sweeps  headlong  o'er  the  aUuring  paths  of  gain  ! " 

— Sat.  xiv.  16L 

And  how  could  this  be  a  subject  of  wonder,  how- 
ever  much  it  might  alarm  and  distress  the  lover  of  liis 
country,  when  the  possession  of  a  huge  estate  was  the 


MORALS  AT  ROME. 


73 


one  thinc^  indispensable  to  any  man  who  aimed  at 
nuking  himself  a  name,-when  every  avenue  by  whi  h 
Tman  mic^ht  hope  to  rise  to  eminence,  or  even  to  retam 
:;i:;of  meLrity,  was  closed  to  him  who  re  us^i 
to  burn  his  incense  as  a  devotee  to  the  vile  mone^^ 
worship  of  the  day  1     Battery,  meanness,  hypo^y, 
sycophancy,    cruelty,   rapacity,   low   -nning        d^^^^^ 
tingue  speaking  false  things,-such  were  t^^  ^-^^^^^^^^ 
which  would  fix  a  man's  footsteps  firmly  on  he  rounds 
-  If  tte  ladder  leading  to  wealth  and   social  position^ 
The  vision  which  the  fancy  of  "lover  pictu^^^^^ 
to  liis  heated  imagination  was  then  realised,  and  more 
than  realised,  in  Rome  :— 

«  Those  were  the  days  to  advance  the  works  of  the  men  of 
merwhot;t  a  fool  would  have  faith  in  a  tradesman's 
ware  or  his  word  ? 

Soon;r  or  later  I,*  too.  may  V^^^l\^^^^  .or 

Of  the  golden  age-why  not  ]  I  have  neitner      i 

M  w  mTke  mv  heart  as  a  millstone,  set  my  face  as  a  flint. 
May  maKe  my  ii^^^y  ^  Vnows?  we  are  ashes 

Cheat  and  be  cheated,  and  die-who  knows 

and  dust." 
For  these  are  days — 
«  When  only  the  ledger  lives,  and  only  not  all  men  Ue." 

"What's  Kome  to  me?"  exclaims  the  poefs  friend  ; 
«  what  business  have  I  there, 

« I  who  can  neither  lie  nor  falsely  swear. 
Nor  praise  my  patron's  mideserving  rhymes, 


I 
t 


74  JUVENAL. 

Nor  yet  comply  with  him,  nor  with  his  times  ? 
I  neither  will  nor  can  prognosticate 
To  the  young  gaping  heir  his  father's  fate. 
Others  may  aid  the  adulterer's  vile  design, 
And  bear  the  insidious  gift  and  melting  line. 
For  want  of  these  town  virtues,  thus  alone 
I  go,  conducted  on  my  way  by  none." 

— Sat.  iii.  41. 

But  though  strangers  poured  into  Rome  from  every 

nation,  as  to  a  common  mart,  for  their  hateful  wares, — 

tliough 

**  Sicyon,  and  Amydos,  and  Alaband, 
Tralles,  and  Samos,  and  a  thousand  more 
Thrive  on  his  indolence,  and  daily  pour 
Their  starving  myriads  forth  ; " 

—Sat.  iii.  69. 

yet  it  is  from  Greece  that  the  great  high  priests  of 
lust  and  iniquity  of  every  kind  come  most  fully 
equipped  for  their  task, — most  thoroughly  initiated  in 
all  the  ways  which  lead  men  insensibly  to  glide  in 
flower-dressed  barks  down  that  stream  whose  end  is 
the  blackness  of  death,  though  its  banks  are  gay  and 
its  waters  sweet.  Yes, — the  home  of  Socrates  and 
of  Demosthenes  has  now  fallen  so  low  that  even  the 
coarsest  Roman  may  well  cast  his  stone  at  her,  as  at 
the  great  nurse  and  producer  of  all  that  is  most  vile  on 
earth.  A  consummate  master  in  all  the  arts  which 
may  pander  to  this  luxurious  age,  the  Greek  knows 
but  too  well  how  to  make  himself  acceptable,  or  even 
necessary,  to  his  patron  : — 

"  A  flattering,  cringing,  treacherous,  artful  race, 
Of  torrent  tongue  and  never-blushing  face. 


MORALS  AT  ROME. 


75 


A  Protean  tribe  one  knows  not  what  to  call. 
Which  shifts  to  every  form,  and  shines  m  all,— 
Grammarian,  painter,  augur,  rhetorician. 
Rope-dancer,  conjrrer,  tiddler,  and  physician  ; 
All  trades  his  own  your  hungry  Greekling  connt., 
And  bid  him  mount  the  sky,  the  sky  he  niounts. 

— Sat.  111.  /5. 

The  drift  of  this  passage  will  be  famUiar  to  many  of 
o«r  readers,  from  Dryden's  chapter  of  the  Earl  ot 
Shaftesbury  in  his  "  Absalom  and  AchitopheL  to 
which  it  bears  a  strange  similarity.  Indeed,  we  can 
hardly  doubt  that  those  lines  were  wntten  by  him 
with  Juvenal's  description  of  the  Greek  ringing  m 
his  ears : — 

»  Some  of  their  chiefs  were  princes  of  the  land  ; 

In  the  first  rank  of  these  did  Zimri  stand  ; 

A  man  so  various,  that  he  seemed  to  be 

Not  one,  but  all  mankind's  epitome : 

Stiff  in  opinions,  always  in  the  wrong  ; 

Was  everything  by  starts,  and  nothing  long  ; 

But,  in  the  course  of  one  revolving  moon,       ^ 

Was  chymist,  fiddler,  statesman,  and  buffoon. 

Nor  did  it  now  avaU  the  Roman  client  that  he  was 
reidy  to  humble  himself  in  the  very  dust,  to  accept 
any  office  however  menial,  to  be  the  mouthpiece  ol 
any  flattery  however  fulsome.  He  might  indeed  cringe 
as  low  as  his  Greek  rival,  but  he  had  not  the  graceful 
manners  and  the  ready  wit  that  could  alone  make  this 
debasement  of  himself  acceptable  :— 

*  A  less  complimentary  version  of  the  line  wiU  occur  to  many  ^ 
of  our  readers  : — 

*'  And  bid  him  '  go  to  hell'-to  heU  he  goes." 


\\ 


76  JUVENAL. 

"  We  too  can  cringe  as  low  and  praise  as  warm, 
But  flattery  from  the  Greek  alone  has  charm  ;'' 

—Sat.  iii.  92. 

for  "  Greece  is  a  theatre  Avhere  all  are  players,"  and 
not  one  of  its  children  but  could  easily  supplant,  by 
the  plausibility  of  his  manners  and  his  natural  apti- 
tude for  deceit,  the  most  experienced  Eoman  parasite. 
As  in  the  time  of  Pericles,  so  now,  the  Greeks,  but 
especially  the  Athenians,  surpassed  all  men  in  the  ver- 
satility of  their  genius,  and  their  power  of  adapting 
themselves  to  each  circumstance  as  it  might  arise. 
Thus  the  same  qualities  which,  in  their  more  glorious 
days,  had  guided  them  to  the  highest  place  in  political 
life  j,nd  in  the  arts,  could  now  but  lead  them  to  ex- 
])lore  the  lowest  depths  of  servility  and  moral  degra- 
dation. 

Perhaps  even  worse  than  these  other  innovations 
were  those  that  had  been  introduced  into  the  religious 
sphere  of  Roman  life.     The  national  religion  of  Ptome, 
in  its  proper  form,  differed  from  that  of  the  Greek  in 
being  of  a  far  more  abstract  and  ideal  nature, — not 
appealing  to  men's  minds  by  a  concrete  personification 
of  that  which  they  worshipped,  still  less  by  a  corporeal 
representation  of  the  deity,  but  binding  the  soul  of  the 
worshipper  to  an  adoration  of  tliat  which  was  spiritual 
and  universal  in  nature.     Without  any  real  sympathy 
for  the  allegorical  mythology  which  was  nevertheless 
soon  grafted  on  it  from  the  more  artistic  worship  of 
Greece,  this  purer  form  of  religion  lost  all  hold  on  its 
followers  as  soon  as  that  earnest  belief  which  was  indis- 
pensable to  its  continuance  began  to  be  called  in  ques- 


MORALS  AT  ROME. 


77 


tion  by  the  growing  scepticism  of  the  times.    When  it 
binding  force  had  thus  been  weakened,  it  no  longer  had 
any  power  to  resist  the  influx  of  all  the  foreign  forms 
of  worship  whicb  poured  into  Italy  from  the  surround- 
in.  nations.  Among  these,  those  which  struck  most  deep 
root  into  the  heart  of  Rome  were  the  element-worship 
of  the  Syrian  and  the  mysterious  cult  of  the  deities  of 
the  Nile.     The  pure  religion  of  the  Jews  seems  also 
to  have  had  powerful  attractions  for  the  imagination 
of  the  Romans ;  and  though  it  was  seldom,  if  ever, 
ricditly  understood  by  them-though  its  followers  seem 
somethnes  even  to  have  been  involved  with  the  Egyptian 
priesthood  in  the  punisliment  of  a  common  proscrip- 
L,  as  being  disturbers  of  the  peace  of  the  city  and 
as  relaxing  the  purity  of  female  manners-it  frequently 
,net  with  an  amount  of  consideration  at  the  hands  of 
the  government  which  was  but  seldom  granted  to  foreign 
creeds.    In  the  age  of  Juvenal,  however  it  wa.  from  the 
Nile  and  from  the  Orontes,  above  all   other  places 
that  issued  forth  the  superstitions  which  were  the  most 
fatal  to  purity  in  manners  and  to  faith  in  rehgion. 
Along  with  these  came  in  troops  of  fortune-tellers  from 
Armenia  or  from  Commagene,  of  Chalda^an  astrologers 
and  of  Syrian  seers,  who,  at  one  fell  sweep,  took  a  firm 
hold  on  the  whole  Roman  people,  but  especiaUy  on  the 
women.     The  descendants  of  the  ancient  matrons  of 
Rome,  types  of  modesty  and  matronly  decorum,  claim- 
in.  even  in  the  days  of  C^sar  to  be  not  only  free  from 
aUeuilt  but  also  above  all  suspicion,  now  gladly  em- 
braced these  foreign  superstitions  as  an  easy  means  of 
indulging  their  every  passion.     Guided  by  some  Ara- 


i' 


78 


JUVENAL, 


Ki 


barces,  the  wife  would  roam  the  streets  by  night,  in  open 
contempt  of  common  decency  and  of  her  husband's 
orders.  A  slave  to  superstition,  she  would  shrink  at 
nothing  which  the  object  of  her  prayers  might  com- 
mand : — 

"  Should  milk-white  lo  bid,  from  Meroe's  isle 
She'd  fetch  the  sunburnt  waters  of  the  Nile 
To  sprinkle  in  her  fane  ;  for  she,  it  seems, 
Has  heavenly  visitations  in  her  dreams. 
Mark  the  pure  soul  with  whom  the  gods  delight 
To  hold  high  converse  at  the  noon  of  night ! 
For  this  she  cherishes  above  the  rest, 
Her  lo's  favourite  priest,  a  knave  professed, 
A  holy  hypocrite,  who  strolls  aljroad 
With  his  Anubis,  his  dog-headed  god." 

—Sat.  vi.  526. 

The  same  account  might  stand  for  the  wild  votaries 
of  Bellona  or  of  Anubis,  of  Osiris  or  of  Cybele.  All 
these  had  the  one  common  quality  of  reckless  disregard 
of  that  which  was  by  others  deemed  most  binding,  an 
intolei-ance  of  any  restraint  which  might  be  placed  on 
the  whim  of  the  hour.  Closely  connected  with  this 
degeneracy  in  religion  was  that  further  progress  in  ini- 
quity on  which  we  have  elsewhere  dwelt, — the  whole- 
sale poisoning  of  husbands  by  their  wives,  and  of 
fathers  by  their  childreiL 


i 


1 


CHAPTER  V. 

PUILOSOPHY    AND    RELIGION   AT   ROME. 

The  same  practical  cast  of  intellect  which  has  made  the 
Itomans  the  great  lawgivers  of  all  ages,  which  has 
spread  their  code  throughout  the  civilised  world,  has 
had  other  not  less  marked  if  less  important  effects  on 
their  social  history. 

It  is  to  this  prevailing  mode  of  thought  that  we 
must  attribute  the  fact,  that  no  original  philosopher  of 
any  mark  ever  rose  among  the  Eomnns.  Their  writers 
had  indeed  remarkable  clearness  of  perception,  and  the 
power  of  setting  forth  with  great  force  and  accuracy 
any  idea  that  they  had  once  fully  grasped  in  their  own 
minds ;  but  beyond  this  the  Eoman  did  not  go.  He 
had  neither  the  wish  nor  the  ability  to  solve  the  many 
metaphysical  problems  which  lay  in  his  way — to  resolve 
into  their  ultimate  elements  the  many  complex  psycho- 
logical phenomena  with  which  it  was  necessary  to 
grapple  before  the  superstructure  of  Ethics  could  be 
based  on  a  firm  foundation.  Such  questions  were 
attractive  to  the  Greeks,  and  to  them  he  left  them, 
content  to  draw  his  axioms  at  second-hand  from  the 


80 


JUVENAL, 


<r 

o 


vast  repertory  which  had  been  amassed  since  the  days 
of  Socrates,  and  to  build  them  without  question  into 

his  own  edifice. 

Such  a  philosopher  is  Juvenal  :  or,  if  we  may  take 
his  own  account  of  his  philosophical  lore  as  accurate, 
he  was  even  less  instructed  than  most  Roman  writers  on 
tl.e  subject  in  the  tenets  and  opinions  of  the  various 
schools  of  philosojdiv.  Hear  him  as  he  prepares  to 
ive  advice  and  consolalion  tu  a  repining  friend  ;— 

"  Hear  in  turn  what  I  propose, 
To  mitigate,  if  not  to  heal  your  woes  ; 
I  who  no  knowledge  of  the  schools  possess, 
Cynic,  or  Stoic,  differing  but  in  dress.   ^ 
Or  thine,  calm  Epicurus,  whose  pure  mmd 
To  one  small  garden  every  wish  confined. 
In  desperate  cases  able  doctors  fee,  ^^ 

But  trust  your  pulse  to  Philip's  boy-or  me. 

— Sat.  xiii.  120. 

Juvenal  then  goes  on  to  point  to  the  everyday  life  that 
surrounded  them,  to  ask  in  what  way  his  friend  thought 
himself  worse  off  than  many  of  his  neighbours,  on  what 
^rounds  he  claimed  exemption  from  such  misfortunes 
L  are  part  of  the  common  lot  of  mankind.  No  high 
flights  of  philosophy  do  we  see  here,  but  plain  common- 
sense  ;  the  advice  of  a  shrewd  and  kindly  man,  such  as 
HoraJe's  Ofella  might  have  given. 

One  thing  that  we  may  notice  in  the  passage  quoted 
above,  is  a  pretty  obvious  disparagement  of  the  t^ch- 
in-s  of  professed  philosophers.  Juvenal  seems,  in  fact, 
to"  have  looked  with  considerable  suspicion  on  the 
professors  of  the  various  schools,  as  being  mere  hypo- 


) 


SJ 


4' 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  AT  ROME.       81 

crites,  who  hoped  to  be  able  to  accomplish  their  vile 
purposes  behind  the  shield  of  a  sanctified  life  unde- 
tected, or  at  all  events  with  comparative  impunity  :— 

«  Turn  to  their  schools  :-yon  grey  professor  see, 
Smeared  with  the  sanguine  stains  of  perfidy  ! 
That  tutor  most  accursed  his  pupil  sold  ! 
That  Stoic  sacrificed  his  friend  to  gold  ! 
A  true-born  Grecian  !  littered  on  the  coast, 
Where  the  Gorgonian  hack*  a  pinion  lost." 

— Sat.  iii.  114. 

Though  he  thus  declined  to  enroll  himself  under  any 
sect, — 

"  To  swear  obedience  to  a  guide's  behests,"— 

the  bias  of  Juvenal's  mind  had  yet  an  obvious  prepos- 
session towards  the  doctrines  and  tenets  of  the  Stoics. 
This  was  the  only  school  of  philosophy  which  ever  took 
a  firm  hold  on  Eoman  society.     There  is  indeed  an 
apparent  exception  to  this  statement  in  the  history  of 
the  closing  years  of  the  Republic,  and  of  those  which 
witnessed  the  foundation  of  the  Empire.      But  the 
Epicurism  which  then  spread  so  rapidly  through  Italy 
had  no  real  foundation-did  not  call  forth  to  itself  the 
deeper  sympathies   even  of  its  professed    adherents. 
The  movement  was  rather  political  than  philosophical, 
and  had  its  rise  in  the  desire  of  men  to  find  a  plausible 
reasonincr  with  which  to  delude  both  themselves  and 
others  into  the  belief  that  the  reason  why  they  thus 
abandoned  all  interest  in  political  life  was  not  their 

♦  -  Gorgonius  cahallus  ; "  a  periphrasis  for  «  Pegasus,"  who  is 
said  10  have  alighto.l  on  Mount  Hehcon. 
A.  c.  vol.  xiii. 


82 


JUVENAL. 


^m^  mm 

V    f      ♦.  a  master  who  would  brook  no  rivalry 

own  subjection  to  a  master  wno  chastened 

^  r,n  Pniials  but  the  advice  of  a  calm  ana  cnd!.«- 

?    It  b  ddL  them  abandon  all  such  cares  and 

'     'Z    a^^J^n-  which  brought  but   trouble  and 

XrioTs^rit:  and  interfered  with  man's  true  end. 

-an  intelligent  pursuit  of  happiness. 

Stoicism,  on  the  contrary,  was  in  Perf-*  |^« 

::— hi;^tr:hir:nX-^^^^^^^^ 

;::r;  small  a  degree  was  utterly  and  en^irel^  W^, 

t^Xato  d  life"  istinct  and  tangible  gain ;  while 

n  t*d  l^ol^"y  *^*  ^^^"«  ""  '^^  °""  reward    ht 
1  "c?ed  mauLuld  be  happy,  however  successful  in 

his  wickedness : — 

..  Man,  wretched  man,  whene'er  he  stoops  to  sin, 

Fed  ,  with  the  act,  a  strong  -^""^V-  ,   rcuise 
•tTs  the  iiv«t  vengeance  :  consc.ence  tries  the  cause, 
A    1  xM.i.lipites  the  violated  laws  ; 
S-h  "ihed  Pnetor  at  theirsentence  spurn. 
And  falsUy  the  verdict  of  the  Urn.       _^^^  ^.^  ^ 

Juvenal  is  never  wearied  of  dwelling  on  this  great 
trate. 


PHlLOSOPUr  AND  RELIGION  AT  ROME.       83 

doctrine,  and  of  repeating  it  again  and  again  in  slightly 
ditierent  forms  : — 

"  Virtue  alone  is  true  nobility. 
Oh,  give  me  inborn  wortli !  dare  to  be  just, 
Firm  to  your  word  and  faithful  to  your  trust ; 
These  praises  hear,  at  least  deserve  to  hear, 
I  grant  your  claim,  and  recognise  the  peer." 

— Sat.  viii.  24. 

Hence  there  is  something  above  and  beyond  the  mere 
fruition  of  life,  and  this  it  is  which  we  must  treasure 
up  beyond  all  else  : — 

"Be  brave,  be  just  ;  and  when  your  country's  laws 
Call  you  to  witness  in  a  dubious  cause. 
Though  Phalaris  plant  his  bull  before  your  eye, 
And,  frowning,  dictate  to  your  lips  the  lie, 
Think  it  a  crime  no  tears  can  e'er  efface, 
To  purchase  safety  with  compUance  base  ; 
At  honour's  cost  a  feverish  span  extend. 
And  sacrifice  for  life  life's  only  end. 
Life  !  'tis  not  life  ;  who  merits  death  is  dead, 
Tliough  Gauran  oysters  for  his  feasts  be  spread, 
Though  his  limbs  drip  with  exquisite  perfume, 
And  the  late  rose  around  his  temples  bloom  ! " 

— Sat.  viil  80. 

A  corollary  to  this  doctrine  is  clearly  the  following. 
No  mere  misfortune  can  ever  call  for  exceeding  bitter 
sorrow.  As  long  as  the  man  preserves  himself  from 
contamination  of  that  which  is  foul,  he  cannot  reach 
any  very  low  depth  of  woe.  Ey  his  own  act,  by  his 
own  voluntary  desertion  of  the  true  aim  of  life,  and  by 
that  alone,  is  it  possible  that  a  man  should  drink  his 
cup  of  misery  to  the  dregs. 


1^^ 


\ 


\ 


84 


JUVENAL, 


The  want  of  happiness,  so  prevalent,  is  thus  the  natu- 
ral consequence  of  the  inherent  blindness  of  men.  By- 
it  they  are  led  to  pursue  eagerly  the  unreal  phantoms  of 
wealth,  rank,  power,  and  so  forth,  while  neglecting  that 
which  alone  can  satisfy  the  wants  of  the  soul,  man's 
godlike  part.  If  men  could  but  see  what  is  really  their 
chief  good,  we  should  no  longer  hear  on  every  side 
prayers  oftered  up  for  all  those  idle  accoutrements  of 
the  body  which  may  indeed  be  enjoyed,  but  often  bring 
only  dissatisfiiction  to  their  owners,  and  can  at  all 
events  be  dispensed  with  without  inconvenience,  while 
the  man  himself— he  for  whom  all  these  are  desired — 
is  passed  over  as  though  he  were  merely  a  lay  figure 
on  which  these  paraphernalia  might  be  set  off  to  the 
f^reatest  advantaf^e.  Yet  who  shall  wonder  at  the  sense- 
less  folly  of  mankind  if  he  do  l)ut  consider  their  educa- 
tion] From  his  earliest  youth  the  one  precept  dinned 
most  assiduously  into  the  ears  of  the  Roman  child  is 

^get  unto  thyself  wealth,  and  all  other  things  shall 

foUow : — 

"  None  question  wlience  it  come,  but  come  it  must." 

— Sat.  xiv.  117. 

Later  on,  when  the  child  has  grown  into  the  boy,  he 
goes  to  school,  but  still  the  teaching  is  equally  faulty. 
What  shall  it  profit  a  man  to  know — 

"  Who  nursed  Ancliises  ;  from  wliat  country  came 
The  step-danie  of  Archemorus,  what  her  name  ; 
How  long  Acestes  flourished,  and  what  store 
Of  generous  wine  the  Plirygians  from  him  bore  ?  " 

—Sat.  vii.  234 


PniLOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  AT  ROME.       85 

Or  to  be  able  with  all  the  subtleness  of  a  master  in  the 
schools  to  balance,  point  by  point,  the  conduct  of  Han- 
nibal's affairs,  and  to  be  able  to  decide — 

*  Whether  'twere  right 
To  take  advantage  of  the  general  fright, 
And  march  to  Rome  ;  or  by  the  storm  alarmed, 
And  all  the  elements  against  him  armed, 
The  dangerous  expedition  to  delay, 
And  lead  his  harassed  troops  some  other  way." 

— Sat.  viL  161. 

With  the  natural  tendency  of  all  men  to  be  hurried 
into  that  vice  opposite  to  the  one  which  they  wish  to 
shun,  Juvenal  can-ied  his  disregard  of  physical  science 
into  a  truly  Socratic  extreme.  Seeing  the  excessive 
weight  given  to  questions,  interesting,  indeed,  but  not 
indispensable  to  the  conduct  of  a  good  and  honest  life, 
he  would  entirely  neglect  every  science  except  that  of 
Ethics : — 

"  Whip  me  the  fool  who  marks  how  Atlas  soars 
O'er  every  hill  on  Mauritania's  shores. 
Yet  sees  no  difference  'twixt  the  coffer's  hoards 
And  the  poor  pittance  a  small  purse  affords  ! " 

—Sat.  xi.  23. 

In  this  condemnation  of  useless  knowledge  Juvenal 
would  seem  to  include  all  mythological  lore,  whether 
imported  from  Greece  or  of  native  growth.  Though 
he  does  not  speak  of  them  in  the  same  tone  of  con- 
temptuous hatred  which  he  uses  with  regard  to  the 
gods  of  Syria  or  of  Egypt,  we  may  yet  trace  in  his 
manner  a  good-natured  and  patronising  tone  when  he 


86 


JUVENAL. 


speaks  of  Jupiter  or  ^Mars,  of  Juno  or  Venus,  very 
different  to  that  which  a  tnie  believer  would  deem  fit 
to  use  :  very  different  to  that  which  he  himself  uses 
wlien  speaking  of  the  unknown  and  beneficent  god  who 
guides  the  affairs  of  mortals  : — 

"Whate'er  they  [Chaldeans]   say,  with  reverence   she 
receives, 
As  if  from  Hamraon's  secret  forth  it  came  ; 
Since  Delphi  now,  if  we  may  credit  fames 
Gives  no  responses,  and  a  long  dark  night 
Conceals  the  future  hour  from  mortal  sight." 

—Sat.  vi.  553. 

Or  again,  speaking  of  the  golden  age  : — 

"  There  was  indeed  a  time 
When  the  rude  natives  of  this  happy  clime 
Cherished  such  dreams  :  'twas  ere  the  king  of  heaven 
To  change  his  sceptre  for  a  scythe  was  driven  ; 
Ere  Juno  yet  the  sweets  of  love  had  tried, 
Or  Jove  advanced  beyond  the  cares  of  Ide. 
'Twas  when  no  gods  indulged  in  sumptuous  feasts, 
No  Ganymede,  no  Hebe  served  the  guests  ; 
No  Vulcan,  with  his  sooty  labours  foul, 
Limped  round,  officious,  with  the  nectared  bowl ; 
But  each  in  private  dined  :  'twas  when  the  throng 
Of  godlings  now  beyond  the  scope  of  song, 
The  courts  of  heaven  in  spacious  ease  possest, 
And  with  a  lighter  load  poor  Atlas  prest. 
Ere  Neptune's  lot  the  watery  world  obtained. 
Or  Dis  and  his  Sicilian  consort  reigned  ; 
Ere  Tityus  and  his  ravening  bird  were  known, 
Ixion's  wheel,  or  Sisyphus's  stone  : 
While  vet  the  Shades  confessed  no  tyrant's  power, 
And  all  below  was  one  Elysian  bower  ! " 

—Sat.  xiii.  38. 


PHTLOSOPIir  AND  RELIGION  AT  ROME.       87 

As  a  moral  teacher  Juvenal  takes  up  a  high  stand- 
point. Virtue  alone  is  true  happiness,  is  alone  worthy 
of  our  earnest  pursuit.  But  this  virtue,  in  what  does 
it  consist ;  how  are  we  to  attain  to  it  1  Briefly,  by  doing 
unto  others  as  we  would  that  others  should  do  unto  us. 
Such  conduct  may  indeed  fail  to  meet  with  its  due  re- 
ward, yet  in  the  long-run  it  will  usually  deserve  and 
obtain  the  esteem  and  kindly  offices  of  your  fellow-men. 
But  even  if  this  be  not  the  case,  that  inward  peace  of 
mind  which  no  man  can  take  away  is  sure  to  follow 
an  honest  endeavour  after  that  which  is  right,  even  as 
the  contrary  course  will  most  surely  be  punished  by 
the  tortures  of  a  violated  conscience.  We  have  a  me 
morable  example  of  the  soothing  power  of  conscious 
uprightness  in  the  death  of  Socrates,  cheerful  under 
the  most  grievous  wrongs  : — 

"  That  old  man  by  sw  eet  Hymettus'  hill, 
Who  drank  the  poison  with  tinruffled  soul. 
And  dying,  from  his  foes  witldield  the  bowl." 

— Sat.  xiii.  185. 

Do  not  then,  0  man,  if  thou  hast  suffered  any  wrong 
at  the  hand  of  a  false  friend,  consider  it  as  anything 
very  strange  or  grievous  ;  stdl  less  allow  thyself  to  bo 
carried  away  by  a  spirit  of  anger  or  revenge,  and  so 
lose  thine  own  peace  of  mind.     Kather  give  him  over 
to  his  own  conscience  ;  his  punishment  will  be  greater 
than  any  thou  couldst  have  called  down  on  him : — 
"  Trust  me,  no  tortures  which  the  poets  feign 
Can  match  the  fierce,  the  unutterable  pain. 
He  feels,  who,  night  and  day  devoid  of  rest. 
Carries  his  own  accuser  in  his  breast." 

—Sat.  xiii.  196. 


88 


JUVENAL, 


Nay  more,- 


"  In  the  eye  of  heaven  a  wicked  deed 

Devised,  is  done  ;"  .. 

— Sat.  xiu.  209. 

and  even  the  intended,  though  imperpetrated,  wicked- 
ness shall  have  its  own  reward.  While  for  him  who 
goes  beyond  the  desire,  and  brings  his  purpose  to  actual 
accomplishment,  retributive  justice  will  surely  lie  in 
wait : — 

"  Thi3  thou  shalt  see  ;  and  while  thy  voice  applauds 
The  dreadful  justice  of  the  offended  gods, 
Eeform  thy  creed,  and,  with  an  humble  mind, 
Confess  that  heaven  is  neither  deaf  nor  blind." 

—Sat.  xiii.  247. 

But  how  is  this  justice  to  be  reached  1  How  shall 
our  children  learn  to  eschew  the  evil  and  to  choose  the 
good]  By  example,  answers  the  poet— by  the  reform 
of  your  own  sinful  practices,  of  your  own  wicked  lives, 
ye  that  are  fathers  and  mothers  in  Eome  !  How  can 
ye  hope  for  a  chaste  and  noble  offspring,  when  on 
every  side  your  children  look  on  sights  too  foul  for 
words  to  tell  1 — 

«  Swift  from  the  roof  where  youth,  Fuscinus,  dwell, 
Immodest  sights,  immodest  sounds  expel ; 
The  place  is  sacred  ;  far,  far,  hence  remove. 
Ye  venal  votaries  of  illicit  love  ! 
Ye  dangerous  knaves  Mho  pander  to  be  fed. 
And  sell  yourselves  to  infamy  for  bread  ! 
Keverence  to  children  as  to  heaven  is  due : 
When  you  would  then  some  darling  sin  pursue, 
Think  that  your  infant  offspring  eyes  the  deed. 
And  let  the  thought  abate  your  guilty  speed ; 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  AT  ROME.       89 

Back  from  the  headlong  steep  your  steps  entice, 
And  check  you  tottering  on  the  verge  of  vice." 

— Sat.  xiv.  44. 

An  evil  habit,  when  once  formed,  is  with  difficulty 
broken  off;  and  the  cliild  will  most  certainly  rather 
follow  the  example  of  the  parent  if  he  sees  him  indulg- 
ing in  luxury,  than  his  precept  when  he  bids  him  choose 
the  narrow  and  difficult  path  that  leads  to  virtue.  If 
the  father  gambles  or  spends  his  fortune  on  the  luxu- 
ries of  the  table,  will  not  his  son  be  a  dicer  and  a 
glutton?  If  he  sees  his  father  cruelly  maltreat  his 
slaves,  of  what  avail  will  be  all  precepts  to  gentleness 
and  humanity  %  Or  how  can  the  daughter  of  a  licen- 
tious mother  become  a  chaste  and  faithful  wife? — 

"  One  youth,  perhaps,  formed  of  superior  clay. 
And  warmed  by  Titan  with  a  purer  ray, 
May  dare  to  slight  proximity  of  blood, 
And,  in  despite  of  nature,  to  be  good  : 
One  youth, — the  rest  the  beaten  pathway  tread. 
And  blindly  follow  where  their  fathers  led." 

—Sat.  xiv.  33. 

We  m^y  trace  a  progressive  change  in  Juvenal's 
moral  being,  and  a  sustained  advance  from  his  earlier 
to  his  later  writings.  At  first  he  can  see  nothing  but 
what  is  evil  Like  David  before  him,  he  thinks  that 
"  there  is  none  that  doeth  good,  no,  not  one."  The  very 
philosophers  who  aspire  to  lead  mankind  are  murderers 
and  perjured  witnesses ;  nay,  they  add  ttiis  to  their  other 
faults,  that  they  are  hypocrites  as  well  as  debauchees. 
The  present  days  are  wholly  corrupt,  and  it  is  only  in 
the  far-distant  past  that  we  can  see  traces  of  a  purity 


/ 


90 


JUVENAL. 


and  virtue  now  long  forgotten.  Now,  alas  !  it  is  neither 
by  noble  birth  or  noble  conduct,  by  genius  or  by  vir- 
tue, that  men  rise.  The  caprice  of  a  blind  fate  drives 
us  hither  and  thither,  and  determines  our  position  m 
life  :— 

"  Oh,  there's  a  difference,  friend,  beneath  what  sign 
We  spring  to  light,  or  friendly  or  malign  ! 
Fortune  is  all :  she,  as  the  fancy  springs, 
Makes  kings  of  pedants  and  of  pedants  kings. 
For  what  were  Tullius  and  Ventidius,*  say, 
But  great  examples  of  the  wondrous  sway 
Of  stars,  whose  mystic  influence  alone  ^ 

Bestows  on  captives  triumphs,  slaves  a  throne  1 

—Sat.  vii.  194. 

Soon,  however,  this  pessimist  view  of  the  affairs  of 
men  is  modified.  Strive,  cries  the  poet,  to  make  your- 
self a  name  ;  rise  from  the  lowly  station  in  which  your 
fortune  may  have  placed  you !  What  though  you 
have  no  ancient  blood  in  your  veins  1-you  may  well 
build  yourself  an  honourable  reputation  :— 

"  Virtue  alone  is  true  nobility." 

See  then  that  you  aim  at  this  alone,  and  value  not  your 
life  above  that  which  alone  can  give  to  your  life  any 
real  value.  Men,  indeed,  may  sometimes  be  ruined 
by  the  will  of  God,  but  such  ruin  will  never  como 
undeservedly.  It  is  because  men  so  often  aim,  not  at 
virtue,  but  only  at  the  reputation  which  it  brings, 

♦  Serviua  Tullius,  who  rose  from  a  servile  position  to  be  king 
of  Rome  •  and  P.  Ventidius  Bassus,  who,  starting  in  life  as  a 
hirer  of  mules,  was  taken  up  by  Julius  Caesar,  and  became  suc- 
cessively tribune  and  prretor,  pontifex  and  consul. 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  AT  ROME.       91 

that  we  see  them  fail  so  miserably.  God  loves  men, 
and  would  always,  did  their  vices  or  their  folly  permit 
it,  bring  them  to  happiness  and  honour.  Be  brave, 
then,  be  honest  and  diligent ;  then  shall  victory  most 
assuredly  crown  your  efforts.  Nor  need  we  look  far 
for  examples  of  the  truth  of  what  I  here  lay  down. 
How  often  in  the  history  of  Rome  have  men  of  humble 
birth  come  forth  in  time  of  danger,  and,  nobly  risking 
all,  even  to  the  death,  or  disgrace  worse  than  death 
itself,  stood  between  their  country  and  defeat,  and  built 
themselves  a  glorious  name  !  Nor,  alas  !  is  the  oppo- 
site case  to  this  unknown.  Some  of  Rome's  proudest 
sons  have  ere  now  by  their  own  acts  sunk  themselves 
into  such  a  depth  of  infamy  as  to  be  ready  to  bear  the 
flaming  torch  of  rapine  into  their  country's  breast : — 

"  Cethegus,  Catiline  !  whose  ancestors 
Were  nobler  bom,  were  higher  ranked,  than  yours  ? 
Yet  ye  conspired,  with  more  than  Gallic  hate, 
To  wrap  in  midnight  flames  this  helpless  state, 
On  men  and  gods  your  barbarous  rage  to  pour, 
And  deluge  Rome  with  her  own  children's  gore, — 
Horrors  which  called  indeed  for  vengeance  dire. 
For  the  pitched  coat  and  stake  and  mouldering  fire  ! 
But  Tully  watched,  your  league  in  silence  broke, 
And  crushed  your  impious  arms,  without  a  stroke. 
Yes,  he,  poor  Arpine,  of  no  name  at  home, 
And  scarcely  ranked  among  the  knights  at  Rome, 
Secured  the  trembling  town,  placed  a  firm  guard 
In  every  street,  and  toiled  in  every  ward : 
And  thus,  within  the  walls,  the  gown  obtained 
More  fame  for  Tully  than  Octavius  gained 
At  Actium  and  Philippi,  from  a  sword 
Drenched  in  the  eternal  stream  by  patriots  poiured : 


J 


92 


JUVENAL, 


For  Rome,  free  Rome,  hailed  him  with  loud  acclaim 

The  '  Father  of  his  Country,'— glorious  name  ! 

Another  Arpine,  trained  the  ground  to  till, 

Tired  of  the  plough,  forsook  his  native  hill. 

And  joined  the  camp,  where,  if  his  adze  were  slow, 

The  vine-twig  whelked  his  back  with  many  a  blow  ; 

And  yet,  when  the  fierce  Cimbri  threatened  Rome 

AVith"  swift  and  scarcely  evitable  doom. 

This  man,  in  the  dread  hour,  to  save  her  rose, 

And  turned  the  impending  ruin  on  her  foes  ! 

. 

The  Decii  were  plebeians  !  mean  their  name, 

And  mean  the  parent  stock  from  which  they  came  ; 

Yet  they  devoted,  in  the  trying  hour. 

Their  heads  to  earth  and  each  infernal  power, 

And  by  that  solemn  act  redeemed  from  fate 

Auxiliars,  legions,  all  the  Latian  state. 

More  prized  than  those  they  saved,  in  Heaven's  just  esti- 
mate ! 

And  him  who  graced  the  purple  that  he  wore  ^ 

(The  last  good  king  of  Rome),  a  bondmaid  bore  !" 

—Sat.  viii.  230. 

IVIen  talk  of  Fortune  as  though  she  barred  the  way. 
But  what  is  Fortune]— a  mere  idle  name,  to  him  who 
has  the  courage  to  meet  and  wrestle  with  her : — 

"  The  path  to  peace  is  virtue.    We  should  see, 
If  wise,  0  Fortune,  nought  divine  in  thee : 
But  we  have  deified  a  name  alone, 
And  fixed  in  heaven  thy  visionary  throne." 

—Sat.  X.  263. 

In  his  succeeding  Satires  we  can  see  how  Juvenal  lays 
do\vn  what  we  might  almost  call  a  complete  ethical  sys- 
tem.    He  shows  what  virtue  is,  and  how  by  habit  the 


PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  AT  ROME.       93 

practice  of  it  gradually  becomes  easy  and  natural  to 
man.  Especially  we  may  notice  how  he  forbids 
cruelty  to  slaves,  grasping  fully  the  Stoical  doctrine  of 
the  equality  of  all  men.  "  I  am  a  man,"  he  says  with 
Terence,  "  and  think  that  there  is  nothing  human  but 
claims  my  sympathies."  Hence,  how  detestable  an 
example  the  father  sets  before  his  son  when  he  pun- 
ishes the  slightest  offence  of  his  attendant  with  savage 
severity  ! — 

"  Does  Rutilus  inspire  a  generous  mind, 
Prone  to  forgive,  and  to  slight  errors  blind, 
Instil  the  liberal  thought  that  slaves  have  powers, 
Sense,  feeling,  all  as  exquisite  as  ours. 
Or  fury  ?     He,  who  hears  the  sounding  thong 
With  far  more  pleasure  than  the  syren's  song." 

— Sat.  xiv.  15. 

It  is  one  of  the  principal  meiits  of  the  Stoic  philo- 
sophy, that  by  dwelhng  so  emphatically  on  the  real 
equality  of  all  men  in  the  eye  of  nature,  it  did  much 
towards  making  the  lot  of  Rom?n  slaves  more  toler- 
able.    This  doctrine  Epictetus  enforces  in  a  practical  if 
homely  discourse:   "*When  you  call  for  hot  water, 
and  your  slave  does  not  answer,  or  brings  it  lukewarm, 
or  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  house,  if  you  pass  the 
matter  over,  is  not  this  well-pleasing  to  the  godsV 
'How  then  can  I  bring   myself  to   pass   it   overT 
*  Slave,  will  you  not  bear  with  your  own  brother,  who 
has  Zeus  for  his  ancestor,  who  is  born  as  a  son  from 
the  same  seed  and  from  the  same  heavenly  stock  1  .  .  . 
Bear  in  mind  who  you  are,  and  whom  you  rule, — your 
kinsmen,  your  brothers,  the  offspring  of  Zeus.'  " 


94 


JUVENAL. 


It  is  this  bond  of  sympathy,  this  feeling  of  a  com- 
mon fate  and  of  common  hopes,  says  Juvenal,  that  is 
the  most  distinguishing  mark  of  man  : — 

"  Nature,  who  gave  us  tears,  by  that  alone 
Proclaims  she  made  the  feeling  heart  our  own  ; 
And  'tis  her  noblest  boon. 

This  marks  our  birth 
The  great  distinction  from  the  beasts  of  earth  ! 
And  therefore— gifted  with  superior  powers, 
And  capable  of  things  divine — 'tis  ours 
To  learn  and  practise  every  useful  art, 
And  from  high  heaven  deduce  that  better  i)art, 
That  moral  sense,  denied  to  creatures  prone 
And  downward  bent,  and  found  in  man  alone  ! 
For  He  who  gave  this  vast  machine  to  roll, 
Breathed  life  in  them,  in  us  a  reasoning  soul, 
That  kindred  feelings  might  our  state  improve, 
And  mutual  wants  conduct  to  mutual  love." 

^  Sat.  XV.  131. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

LITERATURE     AT     ROME. 

Literary  men  in  the  days  of  Juvenal  held  a  somewhat 
anomalous  position,  very  different  to  that  which  is  at 
present  occupied  by  authors  ;  and  it  is  necessary,  un- 
less we  Avould  allow  many  of  the  allusions  that  are 
found  in  Juvenal  to  remain  unintelligible,  to  make  the 
effort  necessary  to  realise  the  hopes  and  prospects,  the 
difficulties  and  disappointments,  which  lay  before  the 
aspirant  to  literary  fame  in  the  reign  of  Claudius  or  of 
Domitian.     We  all,  of  course,  know  the  many  avenues 
by  which  the  young  writer  can  now  lay  his  work 
before  the  public ;  the  numerous  magazines,  the  daily 
prints,   the   circulating   library,   and    the   advertising 
publisher,  will  occur  to  every  one's  mind.     In  ancient 
Rome  there  were  none  of  these  resources ;  in  fact,  the 
reading  public,  as  we  now  understand  the  term— the 
pubUc°to  which  the  writer  looks  for  the  reward  of  his 
labour — had  no  existence. 

The  absence  of  printing,  and  the  restricted  sphere  to 
which  education  was  limited,  wouM  be  sufficient  to 
account  for  this ;  still,  the  difference  in  the  conduct  of 


96 


JUVENAL, 


everyday  life  that  was  thus  brought  about  was  so  va^t, 
tliat  it  is  by  no  means  easy  to  appreciate  it  sufficiently. 
We  shall,  however,  receive  considerable  assistance  in 
the  endeavour  to  bring  before  our  eyes  the  life  of  the 
IJoman  author  of  the  first  century  a.d.  if  we  contem- 
plate the  position  of  his  representative  in  the  modern 
Lcndon,  during  the  epoch  of  the  Stuarts  or  the  early 
part  of  the  Hanoverian  dynasty.  Dilferences  there 
still  will  be,  and  important  differences;  yet  many  of 
the  main  features  of  the  pictures  will  bear  a  pretty 
close  resemblance  to  each  other. 

In  the  time  of  Domitian,  as  in  the  time  of  Charles, 
education,  as  we  now  understand  the  word,  was  limited 
to  a  very  narrow  class.  In  both  these  ages  the  circula- 
tion of  books  was,  as  compared  witli  what  we  are  now 
accustomed  to,  insignificant  in  the  extreme.  Few  men, 
even  among  those  that  made  some  pretensions  to  a 
literary  reputation,  owned  a  larger  library  than  may 
now  be  found  in  the  parlour  of  a  country  inn.  In 
part  this  change  may,  of  course,  be  attributed  to  the 
invention  of  printing,  and  its  effect  on  the  facilities  of 
circulation,  but  still  more  is  it  a  secondary  result 
brought  a])Out  by  the  spread  of  education  among  the 
masses.  In  fact,  these  two  results  of  printing,  or  even 
more  perhaps  of  cheap  and  abundant  paper,  have  acted 
and  reacted  on  each  other,  cheap  literature  spreading 
education  ever  more  generally  among  the  people,  and 
this  more  general  education  causing  a  greater  and 
greater  demand  for  literature,  and  so  tending  to  facili- 
tate the  production  of  it  and  lessen  the  cost.  Never- 
theless, the  (litFiculties  and  expense  of  bringing  out  a 


LITERATURE  AT  ROME. 


97 


email  edition  of  a  new  work  in  ancient  Eome  will  pro- 
t)aT)ty  be  much  overrated  by  the  superficial  observer. 
With  the  cheap  and  abundant  slave-labour  that  was 
then  at  command, — labour  too,  we  must  remember,  of 
considerate  skill,  and  well  adapted  by  practice  and 
education  lof  this  description  of  work, — it  is  pretty 
clear  that  an  edition  such  as  we  have  mentioned  could 
be  sent  out  t)y  tfte  1  »ookseller  of  the  *'  Forum  "  quite  as 
rapidly  antl  at  as  ciieap  a  rate  as  could  have  been 
accomplished  by  the  publisher  of  Dryden  or  of  Pope. 
Let  us  then  consider  how  the  work  would  be  set 
about.  Imagine  an  extensive  room  furnished  with 
desks  and  writing  materials  sufficient  to  accommodate 
from  fifty  to  a  hundred  writers  ;  at  each  desk  a  slave 
is  seated,  many  it'  not  all  of  them  highl}'  educated,  as 
education  went  in  those  days.  When  all  is  ready,  a 
reader  chosen  for  his  loud  voice  and  distinct  articula- 
tion proceeds  to  read  forth,  it  may  be,  a  collection  of 
^Martial's  Fpigrams,  newly  sent  in  from  Spain,  or  a 
fresh  edition  of  the  Odes  of  Horace  that  the  general 
public  has  been  calling  for. 

Quickly  and  neatly  the  hands  of  the  writers  run 
down  the  smooth  papyrus,  keeping  pace  with  the 
measured  intonations  of  the  reader.  When  the  roll 
had  been  filled  up,  it  would  be  coiled  round  a  stick  or 
reed  of  the  appropriate  length,  and  finally,  after  being 
neatly  cut,  so  as  to  reduce  all  the  folds  to  an  even 
surface,  it  would  be  smoothed  down  Avith  pumice-stone 
and  the  base  dyed  black.  It  was  then  ready  to  be 
placed  in  its  envelope  of  parchment  that  served  to  pre- 
serve it  from  injury,  and  also  to  receive  the  title  that 

A.  c.  vol  xiiL  Q 


98 


JUVEXAL. 


was  usually  attached  to  it  in  the  shape  of  a  small  strip 
of  papyrus,  with  the  name  of  the  book  written  on  it  in 
deep  red  characters.     Then  the  w^ork  might  either  l)e 
sent  at  once  to  those  who  had  ordered  it,  or  be  exposed 
for  sale  on  the  stall  of  the  Sosii— the  great  booksellers 
of  the  day  at  Rome.     We  might  expect  that  such  a 
work,  by  the  aid  of  abundant  slave-lal)our,  would  be 
produced  at  a  reasonable  rate.     And  the  conclusion 
that  we  might  have  arrived  at  by  a  priori  reasoning  is 
supported  by  direct  contemporary  evidence.   AVe  read  in 
INIartial,  that  a  small  volume  of  poems  neatly  finished  and 
enclosed  in  a  parchment  case  might  be  sold  at  a  price 
corresponding  to  a  few  pence  of  our  present  currency, 
in  fact  much  the  same  as  Avould  now  be  asked  f(jr  a 
volume  of  the  same  size.     Pul)licati()n   such  as  this, 
seems,  however,  seldom  to  have  been   adopted,  except 
by  an  author  whose  reputation  was  already  such  as  to 
secure  a  rapid  sale  of  the  wl^de  edition,  or  one  whose 
private  means  were  sutheient  to  defray  the  expense  in 
case  of  ftiilure.     It  Avas  an  avenue  to  fame  closed  to  the 
unknown  or  poor  author.     tSucli  a  one  might,  however, 
hoi.e  to  earn  protection,  and  open  the  purse  of  some 
more  Avealthy  citizen,  some  aspirant  to  the  reputation  of 
Miccenas,  l)y  a  fulsome  dedication  of  his  w<3rk  to  the 
man  whose  assistance  he   desired.     Siicli  dedications 
were  highly   prized    by    those    to    whom    they  w^ere 
offered,  and  frequently  an  autlior  of  repute  would  look 
for  pecuniary  gain  more  to  the  ]. resent  he  received  as 
arewartl  for  the  preface  of  liis  book  tlian  to  the  price  of 
the  copyright  of  thi^  entire  work.     Yet  this  was  not 
always  the  case.      Often  tlie   UuUian  p.>et  would  be  as 


LITERATURE  AT  ROME. 


99 


much  disappointed  in  his  patron  as  Johnson  w\as  in 
the  expectations  wdiich  he  grounded  on  the  countenance 
of  Lord  Chesterfield.  The  end  of  these  expectations  is 
described  by  that  author  himself  in  most  touching  lan- 
guage, which  has  been  often  quoted  before,  but  will 
bear  repetition  here  : — 

"  Seven  years,  my  lord,  have  now  passed  shice  I  waited 
in  your  outer  room,  or  was  repulsed  from  your  door ;  dur- 
ing which  time  I  have  been  pushing  on  my  work  through 
dithculties  of  which  it  is  useless  to  comphiiii,  and  have 
brouL;ht  it  at  last  to  the  verge  of  pubUcation,  without  one 
act  of  assistance,  one  word  of  encouragement,  or  one  smile 
of  favour.  Such  treatment  I  did  not  expect,  for  I  never 
had  a  patron  before.     .     .    . 

"  Is  not  a  patron,  my  lord,  one  who  looks  with  uncon- 
cern on  a  man  struggling  for  life  in  the  water,  and,  when 
he  has  reached  ground,  encumbers  lum  with  his  help  ? 
The  notice  which  you  have  been  pleased  to  take  of  my 
lalxairs,  had  it  been  early,  had  been  kind  ;  but  it  has 
been  delayed  till  I  am  indifferent  and  cannot  enjoy  it ; 
till  I  am  solitary  and  cannot  impart  it ;  till  I  am  known 
and  do  not  want  it." 

Very  similar  in  the  thought  that  underlies  it  is  the  fol- 
lowing passage  from  Juvenal.  Indeed,  if  we  did  not 
know  tliat  Juvenal  was  himself  a  man  of  fair  fortune, 
and  thus  independent  of  such  assistance,  we  might 
think  that,  like  the  letter  of  Johnson,  his  lines  too 
had  been  prompted  by  the  bitterness  of  a  personal 
rebuff.  He  has  just  been  deploring  the  unhappy 
position  of  authors  in  an  age  in  which  Cajsar  alone 
"  the  drooping  Nine  regards ; "  in  wdiich,  but  for  his 
munificence,  the  uoet  would  do  better  to  turn  cobbler  of 


100 


JUVENAL. 


crier,  or  learn  some  other  similar  liamlicraft,  than  con^ 
tinue  to  work  at  his  unappreciated  art  :— 

"  But  if  lor  other  patroiiaj];e  you  look, 
And  therefore  write,  and  therefore  swell  yonr  hook, 
Quick,  call  fur  wood,  and  let  the  Hames  devour 
The  hapless  produce  of  the  studious  hour  ; 
Or  lock  it  up,  to  moths  and  worms  a  prey, 
And  hreak  yonr  pens,  and  tliug  your  ink  away: 
Or  pour  it  rather  o'er  your  epic  lli<,dits, 
Your  battles,  sieves  (fruit  of  slee])less  ni-hts)— 
Pour  it,  mistaken  mau,  who  rack  your  hrains 
In  dungeons,  cock-lofts,  for  heroic  strains  ; 
Who  t  "il  and  sweat  to  purchase  mere  renown, 
A  meagre  statue  and  an  i\'ory  crov  n  ! 
Here  \^omxA  your  expectations  :  for  the  great. 
Grown  wisely  covetous,  have  learned  of  late 
To  praise,  and  only  praise,  the  high-wrought  strain. 
As  bovs  the  bird  of  Juno's  glittering  train." 

—Sat.  vii.  22. 

There  is  another  fi'ature  of  the  literary  history  of  this 
period  repeated  in  modern  history.     Just  as  Dryden 
found  that  fame,  and  nothing  more,  was  likely  to  he  his 
reward  for  such  pnem>  a-^  ''Absalom  and  Achitophel," 
or  his  Tales  and  Fables,  and  therefore  turned  to  writ- 
ing for  the  stage  as  a  nnn-e  lucrative  hranch  of  litera- 
ture, untitted  though  he  was,  and  knew  himself  to  be, 
for  dTOmn+ir  composition,  both  by  education  and  the 
natural  l.Lui  -f  his  geni"-^— so  Statius  earned  his  liveli- 
hood, not  by  his  epic  i.u.a.s,  though  it  is  f.^  them  that 
he  owes  his  reputation,  but  by  tlic  sah-  <.t  tragedies, 
whose  very  names  are  to  us  unknown.    His  ''  Thel)aid  " 
ho  recited  ami.lst  universal  applause,  and  the  judgment 


LITERATURE  AT  ROME. 


101 


of  posterity  has  fully  ratified  the  enthusiasm  of  his  own 
days  : — 

"  Yet,  while  the  seats  rung  with  a  general  peal 
Of  boisterous  praise,  the  bard  had  lacked  a  meal. 
Unless  with  Paris*  he  had  better  sped. 
And  trucked  a  virgin  tragedy  for  bread. 
Mirror  of  men  !  he  showers  with  liberal  hands 
On  needy  poets  honours  and  commands  : — 
An  actoi''s  patronage  a  peer's  outgoes. 
And  whit  the  last  withholds,  the  first  bestows  ! " 

— Sat.  vii.  85. 

This  is  indeed  very  niucli  wliat  one  would  have  ex- 
pected from  an  a  priori  consideration  of  the  circum- 
stances under  which  these  poets  lived.  The  many- 
headed  multitude  did  not  yet  call  insufficient  numbers 
for  a  supply  of  literary  food  to  enable  Avriters  to  rely 
on  a  widespread  popularity  as  a  reward  of  their  la- 
bours. The  author  still  looked  for  his  fortune — ^nay, 
it  might  be  for  the  very  necessaries  of  life — not  to  the 
subsidies  of  the  publisher,  but  to  the  open-handed 
largesses  of  the  emperor,  or  of  some  ^Ia3cenas  of  the 
day. 

It  was  in  order  to  gain  the  degree  of  notoriety 
that  was  necessary  to  insure  the  countenance  of  his 
patron  that  the  custom  of  the  author  reciting  in 
puldic  his  own  works  came  into  vogue.  This  was  in- 
deed the  only  way  in  which,  in  days  destitute  alike  of 
the  circulating  library  and  of  the  critical  review,  an 
unknown  author  could  bring  his  works  forward  to  be 

*  A  I^oman  actor  of  the  day,  and  an  especial  favourite  of  the 
emperor. 


102 


JUVENAL, 


tried  at  the  liar  of  taste  and  criticism.  This  custom 
had  even  in  the  (hays  of  Horace  taken  deep  root  in 
literary  ciiclt-6.  In  the  succeeding  century,  liowever, 
it  had  spread  far  and  wide,  and  the  risk  of  h.^ing  at 
any  time  conii.elled  to  listen  to  the  second-rate  etiu- 
sions  of  some  wuuld-he  poet  of  your  acquaintance 
seems  to  have  heen  recognised  iis  one  of  the  draw- 
hacks  on  t..un-life.  Thus  Juvenal,  though  in  a 
Init  half-^uii.-u.  passage,  sets  tins  grievance  down  as 
the  climax  of  the  annoyances  heaped  on  the  Roman 
citizen : — 

"  AVliat  desert  land, 
What  wild  uncultured  spot  can  more  affright, 
Than  fires  wide  blazing  through  the  gloom  of  night, 
Houses  with  ceaseless  ruin  thundering  down, 
And  all  the  horrors  of  this  hateful  town, 
AVhere  poets,  while  the  dog-star  glow  ^  rehearse 
To  'niimi"  multitudes  their  barbarous  verse  ! " 

— feat.  HI.  6. 

riiny  indeed  spoke  of  the  practice  as  not  devoid  of 
its  own  advantages,  and  regretted  that  his  countrymen 
did  not  show  themselves  more  ready  to  hecome  ac- 
quainted in  this  manner  with  the  literature  of  their 
own  day.*  Juvenal,  like  a  true  member  of  the  irritahle 
tribe,  spoke  with  far  less  in<lulgence  of  the  customs  of 
his  hrothers  of  the  pen.  lie  had  indeed  formed  a  high 
ideal  for  himself  of  what  a  real  poet  should  he,  and 
confesu'd  that  in  his  days  there  was  none  such  to  he 
found.     Virgil  and  Homce  had  left  l»ehind  no  succes- 

•  See,  on  this  snhjct,   '  Tliny's  Letters,'  voh  xL   of  this 
Series,  Ch.  7,  **  Tuhlic  lleadhigs." 


LITERATURE  AT  ROME. 


103 


sors  on  whom  their  mantle  might  fitly  fall,  though  but 
too  many  competitors  would  fain  have  grasped  the 
magic  wand : — 

"  The  insatiate  itch  of  scribbling,  hateful  pest, 
Creeps,  like  a  tetter,  through  the  human  breast, 
Nor  knows,  nor  hopes  a  cure  ;  since  years  which  chill 
All  other  passions  l)ut  inflame  the  ill ! 
But  He,  the  bard  of  every  race  and  clime, 
Of  genius,  fruitful,  ardent,  and  sublime, 
"Who  from  the  glowing  mint  of  fancy  j)our3 
No  spurious  metal,  fused  from  common  ores. 
But  gold  to  matchless  purity  refined. 
And  stamped  with  all  the  godhead  in  his  mind ; 
He  whom  I  feel,  but  want  the  power  to  paint, 
Springs  from  a  soul  impatient  of  restraint. 
And  free  from  every  care  ;  a  soul  that  loves 
The  Muses'  haunts,  clear  founts  and  shady  groves." 

— Sat.  vii.  51, 

Witli  such  a  lofty  standard  before  him,  we  can 
liardly  he  surprised  if  Juvenal  vented  his  spleen  on  the 
crowd  of  mediocre  poets  that  lived  and  WTote  around 
him :  especially  when  they  insisted  not  only  on  writing 
— an  innocent  amusement  enough — hut  on  compel- 
ling their  friends  to  listen  while  they  read  their  prosy 
epics,  or  the  comedy  that  would  raise  far  less  hearty 
a  laugh  than  the  bathos  of  the  tragedy.  Like  Martin 
Scrildjlerus,  the  poetasters  of  the  day  were  in  no  diffi- 
culty with  regard  to  a  plot.  The  old  fables,  though 
worn  threadbare,  might  surely  serve  yet  once  again 
as  pegs  on  which  to  hang  some  fresh  turn  of  fancy, 
some  newly-framed  conceit.  So  on  the  game  went, 
till  at  last  it  might  be  said  with  truth,  — 


104 


JUVENAL, 


"  Nono  Ivnows  his  home  so  well 
As  I  the  grove  of  IMars,  and  Vulcan's  cell 
Fast  by  the  yEolian  rocks  !     How  the  winds  roar ; 
How  ghosts  are  tortured  on  the  Stygian  shore  ; 
How  Jason  stole  the  gohlcn  fleece,  and  how 
The  Centaurs  fought  on  Othrys'  shaggy  brow." 

—Sat.  i.  8. 

But  while  thus  holding  ^^^^  to  ridicule  the  folly  of 
the  tribe,  and  endeavourin-  lu  divert  the  writers  of  the 
day  from  barren  themes  on  which  even  true  genius 
might  have  toiled  in  vain— from  ploughing  the  light 
sand,  and  sowing  seed  wdiere  none  could  ever  grow — 
Juvenal  was  not  less  ready  to  set  forth  their  wrongs, 
and  protest  in  indignant  verse  against  the  injustice  with 
which  the  poet  was  treated,  the  undeserved  contumely 
tliat  was  heaped  upon  him.     True,  the  man  who  had 
to  earn  his  own  bread  showed  but  scant  wisdom  when 
he  essayed  to  mount  the  hill  of  Helicon,  or  wandered 
by  the  rills  of  Aganippe.    This,  hoAvever,  w\as  no  excuse 
to  the  wealthy  ^x^TO/iw,  the  would-be  literary  dictator. 
What  riglit  had  he  to  entice  the  man  of  letters  to  pay 
liis  court  to  him,  and  to  increase  by  his  homage  the 
reputation  of  his  train,  and  then  refuse  to  pay  him  his 
reward  % — 

"  Hear  now  what  sneaking  ways  your  patrons  find 
To  save  their  darling  gold  ;— they  pay  in  kind  ! 
Verses  composed  in  every  muse's  spite. 
To  the  starved  l>ard  they  in  their  turn  recite  ; 
And  if  they  yield  to  Homer,  let  him  know 
'Tis  that  he  lived  a  thousand  years  ago." 

—Sat.  vii.  36. 

Such  conduct,  however,  we  can  only  deplore,— no 


LITERATVnE  AT  ROME. 


105 


judge  can  interfere ;  and  the  poet  indeed  to  a  certain 
extent  brought  it  on  himself  by  his  foolish  credulity, 
and  he  must  bear  a  double  penalty, — for  how  is  it  pos- 
sible for  him  to  indite  any  lofty  strain  while  half 
starved,  and  harassed  by  anxiety  as  to  hew  he  shall 
procure  his  next  day's  meal  1 — 

"  No  J  the  wine  circled  briskly  through  his  veins, 
When  Horace  poured  his  dithyrambic  strains." 

— Sat.  vii.  62. 

And  even  Virgil  would  have  had  no  readers,  had  he 
been  continually  distressed  with  household  cares.  The 
snakes  Avhich  he  wreathes  round  his  fierce  Fury  would 
in  that  case 

"  Have  dropt  in  listless  length  upon  the  ground, 
And  the  still  slumbering  trump  groaned  with  no  mortal 
sound." 

^Sat.  vii.  70. 

Unenviable  as  the  poet's  lot  is  shown  to  be,  that  of 
the  historian  is  even  more  worthy  of  our  pity.  He 
gets  no  greater  recompense  for  his  work.  And  as  for 
his  labours, — 

"  More  time,  more  study  they  require,  and  pile 
Page  upon  page,  heedless  of  bulk  the  while  ;" 

—Sat.  vii.  99. 

though  all  this  extra  material,  and  the  necessary 
books  of  reference,  demand  an  outlay  that  his  slender 
purse  can  ill  afford.  So  with  the  rest  of  the  learned 
walks  of  life.  Take  the  lawyer.  If,  after  endless  toil, 
he  win  a  cause,  he  is  rewarded  by  an  empty  crown  of 
bays,  or  perhaps 


106 


JUVENAL. 


LITERATURE  AT  ROME. 


107 


"A  rope  of  slirivelled  onions  from  the  Nile^ 
A  ru.-^ty  ham,  a  jar  of  broken  sprats, 
And  wine,  the  refuse  of  tiie  country  vats."* 

—Sat.  vii.  119. 

That  is  to  say,  if  lie  is  a  poor  man ;  for  the  ^veaUliy 
lawyer  is  another  example  of  the  fact,  that  unto  him 
that  hath  shall  be  given. 

And  here,  it  may  be  remarked,  we  have  another 
of  those  parallels  between  life  in  the  present  day  and 
life  at  Eome  under  the  ( ';e-^ars.     Just  as,  in  London,  a 
doctor  is  said  frequently  to  drive  himself  into  a  prac- 
tice by  setting  up  a  brougham  and  making  a  show  of 
a  vast  connection  on  notliing  a-year,  so  the  Eoman 
lawyer  who  wished  to  thrive  had  learned  to  simulate 
an  unreal  success,  as  knowing  that  men  are  ever  ready 
to   encumber  with  their  lielp  tliose  who  have  made 
it  clear  that  they  stand  in  no  iind  of  it.     It  was  no 
uncommon  plan  for  the  young  jurisconsult  to  go  about 
followed  l)y  a  hired  train  of  slaves,  and,  though  penni- 
less, to  make  a  show  of  buying  all  the  luxuries  and 
superfluitif's  of  life  : — 

"  And  some,  indeed,  have  thriven  by  tricks  like  these  ; 
rurytle  an<l  violet  swell  a  lawyer's  fees  ; 
Bustle  and  show  above  his  means  conduce 
To  Itusiness,  and  profusion  proves  of  use. 
Could  our  old  pleaders  visit  earth  again, 
TuUy  himself  coidd  scarce  a  brief  obtam, 
Unless  his  robe  were  purple,  and  a  stone, 
Diamond  or  ruby,  on  his  fmger  shone." 

—Sat.  vii.  135. 

*  It  would  seem  that  in  Juvenal's  time  it  was  not  unusual 
to  ^ive  a  lawyer  at  Rome  a  reward  in  kind  in  tlie  place  of  any 
money  fee. 


The  rhetorician's  case  is  yet  more  desperate  than  the 
rest.  "Worse  paid  than  his  compeers,  his  work  is  of  a 
dismal  sort,  such  as  would  drive  the  meanest  soul  to 
rebel.  Week  after  week  he  listens  to  the  same  class 
droning  out  their  prosy  declamations,  till  in  despair  he 
thro^vs  up  the  task,  and,  giving  up  all  claim  to  pay- 
ment, declines  to  continue  the  thankless  trade. 

In  the  account  7f  the  gramn\irian's  woes  we  meet 
by  the  way  with  an  interesting  allusion  to  Virgil  and 
Horace,  showing  that  they  had  already  become  stan- 
dard books  for  school  use,  had  already  come  to  be 
dog's-eared  by  the  schoolboy's  thumb,  —  a  fate  that 
has  been  theirs  for  an  unbroken  period  of  eighteen 
centuries. 

It  is,  then,  part  of  the  grammarian's  or  schoolmas- 
ter's task  to  guide  his  scholars  through  the  pages  of 
the  *  ^neid  '  or  the  ^  Odes,*  rising  up  early  and  lying 
dow^n  late  to  rest;  and  as  payment  for  all  this  toil, 
besides  being  ready  on  all  occasions  with  every  branch 
of  possible  and  impossible  knowledge,  he  shall  be 
re\varded  at  the  year's  end  with  as  much  as  a  fencer 
gains  in  a  single  hour.  8ueli,  at  all  events,  was  the 
case  at  Eome  in  the  days  of  the  Emperor  Nero. 


% 


W03I£y  AT  ROME. 


109 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WOMEN     AT     R  O  M  EL 

The  social  position  of  women  in  the  days  of  Juvenal, 
and  the  relation  of  the  sexes  to  each  other,  are  siil> 
jects  vhich   could   not  hut  force  tliemselves  on  any 
thiuldn-    mind,— could   not  hut  he  a  cause  for  the 
deepest'  anxiety   to    every    patriotic    Roman    miz.n. 
Trom  the  earliest  days  of  Roman  history,  Avoincn  had 
held  a  mucli   higher  place   in    the    lamily  tlian  has 
usually  fallen  to  their  lot  among  a  hut  partially  civd- 
ised  people.     Th^ugh,  of  course,  suhordiuate  to   the 
man  Avith  re-ard   to  her  position  in  the  state,   and, 
according  to  strict  law,  suhject  ah.sulutcly  to  the  wdl 
of  her  hushand,  the  wife  was  not  looked  on  hahituaily 
as  hy  any  means  his  slave,  hut  rather  as  a  friend  an<l 
^^  exiual,-as  one  who  should  he  treated  with  aflec- 
tionate  respect  and  esteem.     And,  indeed,  in  her  own 
.evince,— the  numagement  of  the  intcM-ior  economy  of 
the  household,  — the  Roman  wife  was  permitted  to 
exercise  full  authority  over  all  tlie  inferior  members 

of  the  fiimily. 

Precluded  by  custom  from  any  prominent  appear- 


ance in  public,  the  matron  at  Rome  was  yet  by  no 
means  confined  to  her  own  apartments,  as  was  usually 
the  case  in  Greece.  On  the  contrary,  as  long  as  she 
conducted  herself  with  decorum  and  propriety,  she 
was  permitted  to  take  her  place  among  men  at  public 
banquets  and  on  other  festive  occasions,  or,  acconi- 
2>anied  by  her  children,  to  be  a  spectator  of  the  diu- 
niatic  performances  of  the  theatre, — a  custom  which 
Juvenal  mentions  as  one  of  the  remnants  of  the  good 
old  days  that  was  still  in  his  time  kept  up  in  the 
country  : — 

"  There,  when  the  toil  foregone  and  annual  play 
Mark,  from  the  rest,  some  high  and  solemn  day, 
To  theatres  of  turf  the  rustics  throng, 
Charmed  with  the  farce  that  charmed  their  sires  so  long  ; 
"While  the  pale  infant,  of  the  mask  in  dread. 
Hides  in  his  mother's  breast  his  Uttle  head." 

—Sat.  iii.  172. 

Thus  the  Roman  wife,  though  by  law  as  much  given 
up  to  her  husband's  control  as  were  his  children  or 
even  his  slaves,  yet  by  custom  enjoyed  a  position  of 
comparative  independence  and  equality.  For,  irrespec- 
tive of  that  personal  influence  which  a  woman  cannot 
fail  to  acquire  over  any  man  with  whom  she  spends  so 
large  a  portion  of  her  life,  and  of  whose  children  she  is 
the  mother,  public  opinion  would  not  fail  to  express  a 
very  decided  censure  on  any  husband  who  should  have 
exercised  the  power  given  him  by  law  over  his  wife 
with  any  harshness  or  disregard  of  justice. 

But  in  the  days  of  Juvenal  there  were  other  causes 
which  had  conspired  to  place  women  in  a  position  of 


110 


JUVENAL. 


far  jijreater  indopoiidence  as  regarded  their  husbands. 
During  the  lat'i'  tiiii.^  "f  the  JJcpuljlic,  the  ancient 
and  soUmuu  luiiu  of  religious  marriage,  hy  Avliieh  the 
wife  passed  as  it  were  into  her  husband's  family,  and. 
l)ecani(;  sulyect  to  him,  even  as  a  child  was  subject  to 
liis  father,  had  fallen  into  desuetude.  The  ceremony 
was  long  and  inconvenient,  and  the  increasing  levity 
of  women  would  not  bruok  so  complete  a  loss  of  inde- 
pendence. 80  entirely  had  this  ceremony  gone  out 
of  liishion  in  th(3  time  of  Tilierius,  that,  according  to 
the  testimony  of  Tacitus,  considerable  dilliculty  was  on 
one  occasion  experienced  during  that  reign  before  a 
chief  priest  could  be  found  whose  parents  had,  as  the 
religious  canon  k  ipiired.  been  joined  together  accord- 
ing to  the  forms  <'f  tliis  most  ancient  and  binding  rite. 
In  the  i)lace  of  this  old  covenant  of  marriage,  a  new 
custom  gradually  arose  by  which  the  woman  did  not 
cease  to  lie  a  member  of  her  fiither's  household,  but 
was,  in  techniral  language,  merely  intrusted  as  a  tempo- 
rary deposit  tn  lit  r  husT)and.  As  a  conse(pience  of  this, 
the  position  of  women  tended  to  becitrae  one  of  great 
practical  independence  j  f(U'  while  tlie  husband  liad  no 
IcLTal  authority  witli  which  to  back  his  Avishes  or  his 
commands,  the  head  of  the  family  to  which  his  wife 
belonged  by  birth  would  naturally  hesitate  to  interfere 
with  the  conduct  of  one  Avho  had  to  all  intent <  and 
pur})oses  become  a  meml)er  of  a  ditferent  family.  Tlie 
very  fact  of  this  independent  position  of  the  weaker 
sex  would  in  itself  have  gone  far  to  shock  the  feelings 
of  Juvenal,  who  of  all  Koman  wiiters  wnth  whom  we 
are  actniainted  was   the  nx'st   conservative,  and   clui»g 


WOMEN  AT  ROME. 


Ill 


most  fondly  to  the  manners  and  customs  of  his  fathers, 
under  which  Home  had  learned  to  rule  the  nations  of 
the  earth.  lUit  matters  did  not  end  here.  The  prac- 
tical change  in  the  conduct  of  women  was  even  greater 
than  the  change  that  had  developed  itself  in  their  legal 
})osition.  Many  causes  had  been  at  w^ork  to  bring  this 
change  about. 

The  education  wdiich  the  Eoman  considered  proper 
and  decorous  for  his  daughters  was  the  same  now  as  it 
had  been  in  the  early  days  of  the  liepublic,  when,  amid 
a  tribe  of  herdsmen  and  shepherds,  the  highest  praise 
that  could  be  placed  as  an  epitaph  on  the  tomb  of  a 
deceased  matron,  was  the  statement  that  she  who  lay 
beneath  had  led  a  sober  and  a  pious  life,  had  regulated 
her  household  Avith  diligence,  and  had  presided  al)ly 
at  the  spinning-wheel,  untouched  by  foreign  manners, 
careless  of  what  occurred  abroad  ;  and,  finally,  that  she 
had  been  the  wufe  of  oidy  one  lord  and  master,  and 
had  never  sought  a  second  matrimonial  alliance. 

Innocence  such  as  this,  grounded  on  simple  hal)its, 
and  preserved  by  ignorance,  might  indeed  be  main- 
tiiined  among  the  rude  farmers  of  Latium — among  the 
citizens  of  what  was  then  merely  the  capital  of  an 
Italian  tribe.  But  wdien  once  the  highly  cultivated 
nations  of  the  East  l)egan  to  pour  their  treasures  into 
the  open  bosom  of  the  queen  of  the  Mediterranean, 
such  innocence  and  such  ignorance  could  no  longer  be 
of  any  avail,  even  had  men  been  in  earnest  in  their 
endeavours  to  preserve  them.  *'  Conquered  Greece  led 
her  con(iuerors  captive"  in  morals  no  less  than  in  phi- 
losophy and  in  art;  and  now  the  softer  manners  and 


I 


S- 


112 


JUVENAL. 


WOMEN  AT  ROME. 


113 


the  looser  inorals  of  the  iEgean  were  transferred  to 
the  hills  amoii^'  which  Ciirius  hud  tilled  his  farm,  and 
Cainillus  driven  his  oxen  : — 

"  Our  matrons  then  were  chaste. 
When  days  of  labour,  nights  of  short  repose, 
Hands  still  empk)yed  the  Tuscan  wool  to  toss  ; 
Their  husbands  armed,  and  anxious  for  the  State, 
And  Carthage  hovering  near  the  CoUine  gate, 
Conspired  to  keep  all  thoughts  of  ill  aloof, 
And  banished  vice  far  from  their  lowlv  roof. 
Now  all  the  evils  of  long  peace  are  ours  ; 
Luxnry,  more  terrible  than  hostile  ])owers, 
Her  baleful  intiuence  wide  around  has  hurled, 
And  well  avenged  the  subjugated  world ! 
Since  poverty,  our  better  genius,  lied, 
Vice  like  a  deluge  o'er  the  State  has  spread. 
Now,  shame  to  Kome  !  in  every  street  are  found 
The  essenced  Sybarite  with  roses  crowned, 
The  gay  Miletan  and  the  Tarentine, 
Lewd,  petulant,  and  reeling  ripe  with  wine  ! 
Wealth  first,  the  ready  pander  to  all  sin, 
Brought  foreign  manners,  foreign  vices  in; 
Enervate  wealth,  antl  with  seductive  art, 
Sapped  every  home-bred  viitue  of  the  heart." 

—Sat.  vi.  287. 

AVhen  the  Eoman  magistrate  returned  to  his  native 
city  from  his  temporary  command  in  Asia  or  in  Greece, 
he  returned  with  his  murals  as  much  debased  as  his 
taste  was  raised  by  the  mode  of  life  practised  among 
the  luxurious  and  effeminate  citizens  of  Athens  and  of 
Miletus.  It  was  from  these  towns,  or  from  such  towns 
as  these,  that  the  whole  apj.aratus  of  life  at  Home  Avas 
borrowed  :  from  tliem  that  the  whole  tribe  of  slaves 


wa.s  drawn,  whose  business  it  was  to  flatter  the  pride 
or  gratify  the  idle  appetites  of  their  lords  and  masters. 
To  such  a  depth  had  fallen  the  descendants  of  Miltiades, 
of  Lecaidas,  of  Demosthenes,  and  of  Pericles,  that,  to 
use  words  which  we  have  already  quoted  in  a  previous 
chapter,  the  Roman  satirist  could  deservedly  style 
them — 

«  A  flattering,  cringing,  treacherous,  artful  race, 
Of  torrent  tongue  and  never- blushing  face  ; 
A  Protean  tribe  one  knows  not  what  to  call, 
Which  shifts  to  every  form,  and  shines  in  aU." 

— Sat.  iii.  73. 

Among  the  other  productions  of  Greece  which  thus 
bore  down  the  old  Koman  simplicity,  among  the  most 
noteworthy  were  the  Heta^raj.     One  of  the  worst  re- 
sults of  the  very  slender  education,  if  education  it 
might   indeed   be   called,    to  which   the   honourable 
daughter  of  Rome  might  aspire,  was  to  force  on  all 
Roman  citizens,  whom  the  caU  of  duty  or  of  pleasure 
had  introduced  to  foreign  and  more  refined  customs,  a 
comparison  between   his   own  uncultivated  wife  and 
the  accomplished  women  with  whom  he  associated  in 
his  Grecian  or  Asiatic  home.     This  class,  called  into 
greater  prominence  through  the  whole  of  Greece,  but 
especially  so  in  Athens  and  in  Corinth,  owing  to  the 
very  subordinate  position  that  the  legitimate  wife  of 
the  Greek  citizen  was  allowed  to  occupy,  cannot  with 
justice  be  compared  to  any  similar  class  in  our  present 
state  of  society.     Though  bound  by  no  legal  or  formal 
tie  to  their  protector,  yet,  as  we  may  gather  from  the 
accounts  that  have  come  down  to  us  of  the  intercTourse 
A.  c.  vol  xiiL  ^ 


t 


I 


i: 


lU 


JUVEXAL. 


of  Pericles  and  Aspasia,  as  well  as  from  other  sources, 
tlie  connections  tlius  formed  were  no  niere  temporary 
liaisons,  but  were  observed  witli  fidelity  on  one  side, 
and  were  rewarded  by  unremitting,  often  by  unseliisli, 
affection  on  tlie  other.  AVe  may  take  Aspasia  as  a  type, 
though  an  unusually  noble  type,  of  her  class ;  a  class 
which,  combining  rare  personal  charms  with  intellectual 
attractions  of  the  highest  order,  usurped,  and  not  with- 
out reason,  the  place  reserved,  under  happier  auspices, 
fur  the  legitimate  wife.  It  was  in  their  endeavour  to 
outrival  the  influence  of  these  courtesans,  without, 
however,  aiming  at  that  higher  culture  to  wdiich  this 
influence  was  in  a  great  measure  due,  that  the  Roman 
matrons  were  hurried  into  those  excesses  which  Juvenal 
has  immortalised  ;  and  to  the  description  of  them  he 
has  devoted  the  whole  of  his  longest  and  most  carefully 
elaborated  poem. 

Another  cause  of  the  anomalous  relations  of  the 
sexes  during  the  second  century  a.d.  may  be  found  in 
the  widely-spread  and  growing  disinclination  to  mar- 
riage. Til  is  was  to  the  moralist  one  of  the  worst  fea- 
tures of  tlie  times.  As  early  as  the  year  '100  B.C.  we 
hear  of  fines  being  levied  by  the  censors  on  many 
Koman  citizens,  if  they  had  not  taken  to  themselves  a 
wife  before  reaching  a  reasonable  age;  shortly  after 
this,  official  speeches  are  recorded,  as  spoken  by  men 
of  rank  who  bewailed  the  necessity  of  marriage,  while 
calling  on  the  citizens  to  take  up  numfully  that  burden 
so  grievous,  and  yet  so  necessiiry,  for  the  good  of  the 
State. 

During  the  civil  wars,  and  the  general  deterioration 


WOMEN  AT  ROME. 


115 


of  manners  consequent  on  them,  the  evil  here  alluded 
to  increased  to  an  alarming  extent— so  much  so,  in- 
deed, that  one  of  the  principal  aims  of  the  legislation 
of  Augustus  was  to  diminish  the  untoward  proportion 
of  unmarried  men,  to  check  the  disinclination  to  mar- 
riage which,  according  to  a  statement  in  one  of  the 
auUiors  of  the  period,  threatened  to   extinguish  the 
entire  stock  of  the  old  Roman  families.     But  the  legis- 
lation of  the  emperor  was  scarcely  of  more  avail  than 
were  the  songs  of  Horace  and  of  other  court  poets,  who 
at  the  bidding  of  their  prince  hymned  the  praises  of  a 
married  state,  all)eit  they  showed  but  little  inclination 
to  put  their  teaching  into  practice  in  their  own  cases. 
This  distaste  for  marriage  itself  was  yet  further  in- 
creased, if  not  justified,  l^y  the  extraordinary  demands 
made  by  any  wife  who  happened  to  bring  with  her  as 
dowry  a   large  addition   to   her   husband's  property. 
Such  a  one  w^ould  not  only  arrogate  to  herself  absolute 
control  of  her  own  estate,  and  an  unbridled  licence  of 
action  in  things  both  small  and  great,— a  freedom  to 
violate  aU  customs,  and  cast  aside  the  last  shred  of 
womanly  modesty,— but  wouLl  even  claim  to  dictate  to 
her  husband  his  conduct  and  his  mode  of  life.    Well 
indeed  might  the  poet  exclaim  in  his  wrath  :— 

"  Sure  of  all  ills  with  which  mankind  are  curst, 
A  wife  who  brings  you  money  is  the  worst." 

—Sat.  vi.  139. 

In  this  as  in  other  paths  of  vice,  it  was  in  the 
most  lofty  rank  that  virtue  was  most  openly  outraged 
by  women.     It  was   not   necessary  at   Rome,  under 


116 


JUVENAL. 


WOMEN  AT  ROME. 


117 


Xero  or  Domitian,  for  amorous  widow-hunters  of  the 
type  of  "Coloiu'l  Chartres"  or  the  "Duke  of  Eoussillon" 
to  lay  their  toils  with  craft  and  skill  in  o/der  to  catch 
their  victims.  The  matrons  themselves  would  save 
them  all  that  trouble,  for  at  all  events  in  that  day  it 
was  quite  as  true  as  in  the  age  of  Pope  or  of  ourselves, 
that 

"  Every  woman  is  at  heart  a  rake."" 

Of  all  the  tragedies  which  have  been  recorded  in  the 
annals  of  the  earlier  years  of  the  Eoman  Empire,  there 
is  none,  perhaps,  so  striking  as  the  intrigue  of  ]\fessa- 
lina  and  Silius, — none  which  shows  in  plainer  colours 
how  utterly  dissolute  the  society  must  have  been  in 
which  such  horrors  could  be  perpetrated,  not  indeed 
with  im[)unity,  but  a]:)parently  without  exciting  any 
strong  feeling  of  disgust.  The  tale  uf  this  the  last  of 
the  amours  by  which  Messalina  dishonoured  her  hus- 
band, and  led  the  way  on  to  the  very  extravagance  of 
vice,  is  related  by  the  historian  Tacitus  in  almost  the 
same  words  as  Juvenal  has  em2)loyed  : — 

"  But  Silius  comes.     Now  l)e  thy  judgment  tried, 
Shall  he  accept,  or  not,  the  pru tiered  bride, 
And  marry  Caisar's  wife  ]     Ilaid  point,  in  truth : 
Lo,  this  most  noble  and  most  beauteous  vouth 
Is  Imiried  off,  a  helpless  sacrifice 
To  the  lewd  glance  of  Messidina's  eves  ! 
Haste,  bring  the  victim  :  in  the  nuptial  vest 
Alrea<]y  see  the  impatient  Em]>ress  drest, 
The  -genial*  couch  prejiared,  the  accustomed  sum 
Told  out,  the  augurs  and  the  notaries  come. 


•  (t 


Lectus  geuiahs."     It  has  been  supposed  that  a  fifqire  of 


« But  why  all  these  ? '     You  think,  perhaps,  the  rite 

Were  better  known  to  few,  and  kept  from  sight. 

Not  so  the  lady  :  she  abhors  a  flaw. 

And  wisely  calls  for  every  form  of  law. 

But  what  shall  Silius  do  !  refuse  to  wed  ? 

A  moment  sees  him  numbered  with  the  dead. 

Consent,  and  gratify  the  eager  dame  ? 

He  gains  a  respite  till  the  tale  of  shame 

Through  town  and  country  reach  the  Emperor's  ear, 

Still  sure  the  last— his  own  disgrace  to  hear. 

Then  let  him,  if  a  day's  precarious  life 

Be  worth  his  study,  make  the  fair  his  wife  ; 

For  wed  or  not,  poor  youth,  'tis  still  the  same, 

And  still  the  axe  must  mangle  that  fine  frame  ! " 

—Sat.  X.  329. 

It  is  against  such  deeds  as  these,  and  to  hold  up  to 
infamy  women  who  took  such  enormities  as  their 
model,  that  Juvenal  pours  forth  the  invective  of  the 
satire  we  are  now  considering.  The  poem  is  itself 
addressed  to  one  Ursidius,  a  friend  to  Juvenal,  on  the 
occasion  of  his  intended  marriage.  After  a  brief 
proem,  in  wliich  the  poet,  by  way  of  introduction, 
bewails  the  lost  simplicity  of  the  golden  age— 

"  When  the  race  that  broke 
Unfathered  from  the  soil  and  opening  oak 
Lived  most  unlike  the  men  of  later  times, 
The  puling  brood  of  follies  and  of  crimes  ; " 

—Sat.  vi.  11. 

he  plunges  at  once  "  in  medlas  res;'  according  to  the 

Horatian   maxim,   apostrophising   his   friend   on   the 

folly  he  is  about  to  commit : — 

the  man's  "  Genias  "  or  guardian  spirit  was  carved  on  his  mar- 

riage-bed. 


118 


JUVENAL. 


"  Even  now  tlie  ring  is  bought; 
Even  now— tlion  on(;e,  Ursidiiis,  hadst  thy  wits, 
An<l  now  to  talk  of  wiving  I     O  these  fits  ! 
Wliat  more  than  in:i<lness  has  thy  soul  po>;sest '? 
What  snakes,  wliat  furies,  agitate  thy  breast  ? 
Heavens  !  wilt  thou  tamely  drag  the  galling  chain, 
AVhile  hemp  is  to  he  bought,  while  knives  remain  !  " 

— Sat.  vi.  27. 

After  this  tirado,  Juvenal  proceeds  to  justify  at 
length  his  advice  by  an  enumeration  of  the  social 
disadvantages  of  the  married  state,  and  of  all  the 
many  faults  of  women  which  the  intending  husband 
risked  experiencing  in  the  person  of  his  wife.  In  the 
first  phice,  the  married  man  would  not  liiil  to  lose  the 
turtle  and  the  ttirl)ot, — 

"  And  all  the  dainties  which  the  flatterer  still 
Heaps  on  the  childless  to  secure  his  will." 

— Sat.  vi.  39. 

This  same  legacy  -  hunting  was  one  of  the  chief 
banes  of  Eoman  life  under  the  Empire,  and  it  went 
far  towards  making  true  friendships  impossible,  by 
raising  su.spicions  against  every  man  who  soomcd  to 
desire  the  society  of  any  one  wdio  had  property  to 
leave  in  his  will.  And  there  was  a  double  incentive 
to  tliis  eager  seeking  after  legacies.  :Xot  only  was  the 
money  itself  a  prize,  but  it  was  considered  to  be  in 
some  sort  a  stigma  on  a  man's  character  if  he  were 
passed  over  uiuiientioned  in  the  will  of  an  acquaint- 
ance. Hence  the  ^vealthy  and  childless  old  man  was 
surrounded,  from  rise  of  mom  till  set  of  sun,  by  crowds 
of  parasites  ready  to  perform  for  him  the  most  menial 


WOMEN  AT  ROME, 


119 


services,  while  even  his  affluent  friends  poured  in  pre- 
sents of  delicate  fish  and  other  dainties,  in  hopes  of 
beinc'  remembered  in  the  rich  man's  testament— pre- 
sents" and  attentions  which  neither  the  poor  man  nor 
yet  the  father  of  a  family  could  hope  to  receive.  Hear 
in  what  manner  the  poet  seeks  to  set  at  rest  the  ques- 
tion of  his  own  disinterestedness,  on  the  occasion  oi 
his  entertaining  a  friend  at  a  feast  in  his  country 
villa : — 

««  Nor  think,  Corvinus,  interest  fires  my  breast : 
Catullus,  for  whose  sake  my  house  is  drest. 
Has  three  sweet  boys,  who  all  such  hopes  destroy  ; 
And  nobler  views  excite  my  boundless  joy. 
Yet  who  besides  on  such  a  barren  friend 
Wouhl  waste  a  sickly  pullet  ?  who  would  spend 
So  vast  a  treasure  where  no  hopes  prevail, 

Or  for  d.  father  sacrifice  a  quail  ? " 

— Sat  xiL  93. 

Juvenal  next  goes  on  to  consider  the  infatuated  par- 
tiality  of  many  a  noble  dame  for  actors,  gladiators,  and 
other  pubHc  performers-a  partiality  often  proved  by 
the  truest  of  all  praise,  imitation.  Eor  some  women, 
says  the  poet, — 

*  Sicken  for  action,  and  assume  the  airs,  ^^ 

The  mask,  and  thyrsus  of  their  favourite  players  ; 

— Sat.  vi.  69. 

nay,  even  descend  as  combatants  into  the  arena,— 

"  Wliere  the  bold  fair 

Tilts  at  the  Tuscan  boar  with  bosom  bare." 

—  Sat.  i.  22. 

^,Uu^'  women,  too,  who  did  not  so  outrageously  unsex 


120 


JUVENAL. 


tliemselves,  were  yet  ready  to  abandon  all  that  they 
should  have  held  most  dear,  and  sacrifice  their  name 
and  fame  for  the  sake  of  some  outcast  player  or 
j^ladiator : — 

"  IIipi)ia,  who  shared  a  rich  patrician's  bed, 
To  Egypt  with  a  gladiator  fled, 
While  rank  Canopus  eyed  with  strong  disgust 
Tliis  ranker  specimen  of  Roman  lust. 
Witliout  one  pang  the  profligate  resigned 
Her  hnsl)and,  sister,  sire  ;  g;ive  to  the  wind 
Her  children's  tears  ;  yea,  tore  herself  away 
(To  strike  you  more),  from  Paris*  and  the  Play." 

—Sat.  vi.  82. 

Then  look  at  the  reckless  extravagance,  so  prevalent 
as  to  bo  almost  universal,  that  prompts  the  sex  t<o 
squander  their  husbands'  fortunes  on  useless  trifles. 
See  Ogulnia,  the  woman  of  fashion,  as  she  leaves  her 
house ;  contemplate  her  actions  througli  the  day,  her 
costly  dress,  her  numerous  attendants,  her  worthless 
and  ruinously  expensive  bargains,  and  then  answer 
whether  any  fortune  can  supj)ort  such  a  heavy  and  so 
constant  a  drain  upon  it.  r>ut,  like  the  insatiable 
leech,  the  woman  will  never  lose  her  hold  so  long  as  a 
single  forthing  can  be  extracted  from  the  funds  of  her 
much-enduring  husband : — 

"  Whene'er  Oguhiia  to  the  circus  goes. 
To  enmlate  the  rich  she  hires  her  clothes  ; 
Hires  followers,  friends,  and  cusliions  ;  hires  a  chair, 
A  nurse,  and  a  trim  girl  with  go'den  hair, 
To  slip  her  billets  :  pro«ligal  and  poor, 
She  wastes  the  wreck  of  lier  paternal  store 

*  See  note  ahove,  p.  101. 


WOMEN  Ai  ROME. 


121 


On  smooth-faced  wrestlers,— wastes  her  little  all, 
And  strips  her  shivering  mansion  to  the  wall !  " 

^  —Sat.  vi.  352. 

Men  may  indeed  be  led  into  extravagant  profusion, 
but  usually  tbey  have  more  or  less  thought  for  the 
morrow ;  while  the  fair  sex,  if  once  they  enter  on  the 
beadlong  course,  without  a  pause  and  without  delay 
plunge  on  and  on,  as  thougb  no  power  could  reduce  the 
heap  of  gold  from  which  they  draw.     In  other  cases 
the  same  peculiarity  may  be  traced,  the  same  inability 
to  preserve  tbe  bounds  of  moderation,  though  these 
bounds  alone  can  preserve  even  the  ornaments  and 
little   elegances   of  everyday  life   from   degenerating 
into  flaws,   if  not  into  more  serious  faults.     As  an 
example  of  this,  we  may  take  the  affectation  of  mixing 
up  Greek  words  with  Latin,  a  custom  carried  to  such 
a  length  that  no  lady  with  any  pretension  to  taste  will 
allow''  herself  to  use  anything  but  this  nondescript 
jargon,— much  as  some  people  in  our  own  day  inter- 
lard their  English  with  French  names  and  phrases  :— 

"  'Tis  now  the  nauseous  cant  that  none  is  fair 

Unless  her  thoughts  in  Attic  terms  she  dress  ; 

A  mere  Cecropian  of  a  Sulmoness  !  * 

All  now  is  Greek  ;  in  Greek  their  souls  they  pour. 

In  Greek  their  fears,  hopes,  joys,— what  would  you  more  ? 

In  Greek  they  clasp  their  lovers."  ^ 

—Sat.  VI.  185. 

*  Sulmo.  a  town  of  the  Pehgni,  in  which  the  poet  Ovid  was 
born,  is  here  taken  for  any  provincial  place.  The  women  of 
Sulmo,  in  spite  of  their  country  breeding  and  their  coarse  country 
accent,  gave  themselves  the  airs  of  thoroughbred  Athenians, 
who  are  here,  as  elsewhere,  styled  Cccropians,  from  Cecrops,  an 
early  king  of  Attica. 


122 


JUVENAL. 


The  same  ignorance  of  what  bounds  should  he 
observed  alh-)\vs  women  to  l^ecome  the  very  caricature 
of  themselves  when  they  engage  in  public  life,  and 
enter  into  competition  with  men  in  masculine  profes- 
sions and  pursuits.  Thus  many  women  are  eager  to 
rofnie  upon — 

"  The  finest  subtleties  of  law, 
And  raise  litigious  questions  for  a  straw. 
They  meet  in  private,  and  prepare  the  bill 
Draw  up  the  instructions  with  a  lawyer's  skill, 
Suggest  to  Celsus  where  the  merits  lie. 
And  dictate  points  for  statement  or  reidy. 
Nay  more,  tliey  lence  !     AMio  has  not  marked  their  oil. 
Tlu-ir  purple  rugs,  for  tliis  preposterous  toil  ? 
Room  for  the  lady  !— lo  !  she  seeks  the  list, 
And  fiercely  tilts  at  her  antagonist, 
A  post !  whicli  with  her  l)uckler  slie  provokes, 
Au<l  bores  and  batters  witli  r»'j>eated  strokes 
Till  all  the  fencer's  art  can  do  slie  shows, 
And  the  glad  master  interrupts  her  blows." 

—Sat.  vi.  242. 

Nor  is  the  wife  a  less  skilful  combatant  when,  cast- 
ing aside  those  weapons  which  she  but  now  usurped, 
she  takes  U])  her  true  part,  an»l,  in  the  curtain  lecture' 
with  ready  wit  baffles  all  the  comi)laints  her  husband 
may  make,  or  turns  the  taldes  upon  hiui  by  fierce  re- 
joinder against  his  own  unfaithfulness,  or  by  tears  of 
well-feigned  rage  at  his  neglect : — 

"  'Tis  night ;  yet  hope  no  sluml)ers  with  your  wife  ; 
The  nuptial  bed  is  still  the  scene  of  strife  : 
There  lives  the  keen  debate,  the  clamorous  brawl, 
And  quiet  '  never  comes  that  conies  to  all.* 


WOMEN  AT  ROME. 


123 


Fierce  as  a  tigress  jdundered  of  her  young, 
Eage  fires  her  breast  and  loosens  all  her  tongue  ; 
When,  conscious  of  her  guilt,  she  feigns  to  groan. 
And  chides  your  loose  amours  to  hide  her  own  ; 
Storms  at  the  scandal  of  your  ])aser  flames. 
And  weeps  her  injuries  from  imagined  names, 
With  tears  that  marshalled  at  their  station  stand, 
And  flow  impassioned  as  she  gives  command. 
You  think  those  showers  her  true  affection  prove, 
And  deem  yourself  so  happy  in  her  love  ! 
With  fond  caresses  strive  her  heart  to  cheer. 
And  from  her  eyelids  kiss  the  starting  tear  : 
But  couhl  you  now  search  through  the  secretaire 
Of  this  most  loving,  this  most  jealous  fair, 
What  amorous  lays,  what  letters  would  you  see- 
Proofs,  damning  proofs  of  her  sincerity  ! " 

—Sat.  vi.  286. 

Truly  "  IMrs  Caudle  "  was  flourishing  even  in  the  days 
of  Juvenal !  So  was  also  she  who  is  now  called  blue- 
stocking. Though  no  title  had  then  been  given  her, 
the  marks  by  which  she  may  be  known  are  most 
graphically  set  forth  in  this  poem.  Here  we  may  un- 
mistakably trace  the  features  of  one  who  would  in  the 
present  day  have  gone  in  for  competitive  examinations, 
and  essayed  to  mount  the  lecturer's  desk  or  the  profes- 
sor's chair ;  nor,  indeed,  does  she  seem  to  have  been 
more  of  a  favourite  a  thousand  years  ago  than  now  :— 

"  But  she  is  more  intolerable  yet. 
Who  plays  the  critic  when  at  table  set ; 
Calls  Virgil  charming,  and  attempts  to  prove 
Poor  Di<lo  right  in  venturing  all  for  love. 
From  Maro  and  Majonides  she  quotes 
The  striking  passages,  and,  while  she  notes 


124 


JUVEXAL. 


WOMEN  AT  ROME. 


125 


Their  beantios  and  defects,  adjusts  her  scales, 

And  accurately  weighs  whieli  hard  i)re vails. 

The  astonished  guests  sit  mute  :  (irainniarians  yield  ; 

Luud  Rlietoricians,  baffled,  quit  the  field 

•  •  •  .  » 

Oh  never  may  the  partner  of  my  bed 

With  subtleties  of  logic  stuff  her  head, 

Nor  whirl  her  rapid  syllogisms  round, 

Nor  with  imperfect  enthymemes  confound  ! 

Enough  for  me,  if  common  things  she  know, 

And  boast  the  little  learning  schools  bestow. 

I  hate  the  female  pedagogue,  who  pores 

O'er  her  Pahvmon*  hourly  ;  who  explores 

All  modes  of  speech,  regardless  of  the  sense, 

But  tremblingly  alive  to  mood  and  tense  ; 

Who  puzzles  me  with  many  an  uncouth  phrase 

Of  some  old  canticle  of  Numa's  days, 

Corrects  her  country  friends,  and  cannot  hear 

Her  husband  solecise  without  a  sneer." 

—Sat.  vi.  434. 

Another  parallel  between  our  own  days  and  those  of 
Juvenal  may  be  found  in  the  matter  of  women's  dress, 
and  more  ])articularly  in  the  elaborate  head-gear,  which 
would  seem  to  have  varied  but  little  in  the  intervening 
centurie.-.  Oy  perhaps  it  would  be  truer  to  say  that 
the  fashion,  after  going  through  a  cycle,  has  now  re- 
turned to  the  point  w^hence  it  set  out.  Listen  then  to 
the  description  of  a  belle  of  the  first  century  a.d.,  pre- 
paring for  engagement.  Her  handmaids  stand  around 
her,  and,  under  the  guidance  of  an  old  nurse  of  experi- 
ence and  judgment,  who  by  virtue  of  her  age  is  pre- 

*  Palrcmon  the  grammarian,  and  teacher  of  no  less  a  pupil 
than  Qiiintilian. 


sident  of  the  council,  toil  to  complete  the  work  of 
decoration  : — 

"  So  warm  they  grow,  and  so  mucn  pains  they  take. 
You'd  think  her  honour  or  her  life  at  stake  ! 
So  hi<di  thev  build  her  head,  such  tiers  on  tiers. 
With  wary  hands  they  pile,  that  she  appears 
Andromache  before  :  and  what  behind  ? 
A  dwarf,  a  creature  of  a  different  kind." 

—Sat.  vi.  500. 

Hitherto,  however,  the  charges  brought  forward  have 
been  only  of  a  comparatively  venial  nature — offences 
against  taste  and  good  breeding  :  now  we  are  introduced 
to  faults  of  a  darker  hue ;  to  vices  which  have  stamped 
that  era,  to  all  time,  as  one  pre-eminent  above  all  other 
epochs  in  recklessness  and  superfluity  of  naughtiness. 
Here,  as  the  poet  heaps  on  charge  after  charge,  we 
stand  aghast  at  the  disclosures  of  avarice,  superstition, 
cruelty,  and  murder — of  crimes  wdiich  argue  a  heart 
saturated  to  the  core  in  vice,  a  heart  dyed  deep  in 

iniquity. 

Tlie  charge  for  cruelty  is  easily  made  good.  It 
needs  but  to  consider  the  conduct  of  the  Koman 
lady  towards  her  unfortunate  household.  The  idlest 
caprice  of  the  mistress  is  often  gratified  by  the  most 
wanton  torture  of  one  or  other  of  her  dependants  : — 

"  There  are  who  hire  a  beadle  by  the  year 
To  lash  their  servants  round  ;  who,  jdeased  to  hear 
The  eternal  thung,  bid  him  lay  on,  while  they 
At  perfect  ease  the  silk-man's  stores  survey. 
Chat  with  their  female  gossips,  or  replace 
The  cracked  enamel  on  their  treacherous  face. 


126 


JUVEXAL. 


The  wretched  Psecas,  for  the  wliip  prepared, 

With  locks  dishevelUnl  and  with  shoulders  bared, 

Attempts  her  hair  ;  lire  Hashes  from  her  eyes, 

And — *  strumpet  !  why  tliis  curl  so  hii^h  V  she  cries  ; 

Instant  the  lash  without  remorse  is  plied, 

And  the  blood  stains  her  bosom,  back,  and  side." 

-  Sat.  vi.  480. 

The  same  woman,  goaded  by  superstition,  and  uuniin<l- 
ful  of  all  decency  and  of  lier  country's  religion,  will 
liurry  to  the  vile  and  unhallowed  worship  of  Cybele  or 
lo,  of  Osiris  or  Anubis,  and  squander  the  remains 
of  her  fortune  in  bribes  and  presents  to  their  foul 
eifeminate  i)riests,  or  to  the  scarcely  less  hateful  Jewish 
fortune-tellers.     For, — 

"  Though  Delphi  now,  if  we  may  credit  fame, 
Gives  no  responses,  ami  a  Ioiil,'  dark  night 
Conceals  the  future  hour  from  human  si'dit :" 

— Sat.  vi.  555. 

yet  Syrian  sages  and  ChaldcTan  priests  can  still  be 
bribed  to  foretell  that  whicli  shall,  or  shall  not,  come 
to  pass.  The  more  thoroughly  these  men  have  trans- 
gressed all  laws  human  as  well  as  divine,  the  more 
eagerly  will  they  be  s(.ught  after  by  the  chaste  and 
honourable  Ifoman  matron: — 

"No  juggler  nmst  for  fame  or  credit  hope 
Who  lias  not  narrowly  escaped  the  rope. 
Begged  hard  l"or  exile,  and  by  special  grace 
01)taine«l  confinement  in  some  desi'it  place  — 
To  him  your  Tanatpiil  applies  in  doubt 
How  long  her  jaundiced  mother  will  hold  out 
But  tirst,  how  long  her  husband  I  " 

—  Sat.  vi.  562. 


WOMEN  AT  ROME. 


12 


Perchance  you  think  this  is  the  lowest  depth  that  can 
be  reached.  ISTot  so.  Behold  tlie  wretch  who  is  her- 
self a  proficient  in  the  black  science.  She  will  never 
do  anything,  great  or  small,  without  lirst  consulting  the 
manual  of  astrology  that  hangs  ever  at  her  side  :— 

"  She,  deep  in  science,  now  allows  her  mate 

To  go  or  stay  ;  but  will  not  share  his  fate. 

Withheld  by  trines  and  sextiles  ;  she  will  look. 

Before  her  chair  be  ordered,  in  the  book 

For  the  tit  hour." 

—Sat.  vi.  573. 

Even  the  poor  rival  their  betters.     Though  unable  to 

employ  a  })rophet  of  their  own,  they  have  recoui-se  to 

the  wandering  priest,  the  strolling  quack  seer.     And  by 

him  they  are  guided  in  all  the  decisions  of  life. 

'Tis,  however,  but  a  single  step  further  to  call  in 

the  philtre- monger,  and  by  the  aid  of  some  Thessalian 

witch 

"  To  subdue  the  will 
Of  an  uxorious  spouse,  and  make  him  bear 
Blows,  insults,  all  a  saucy  wife  can  dare."  . 

—Sat.  vi.  610. 

And  what  remains  after  this  1  AVhat  further  crime  is 
yet  untried?  Murder  !  And  why  not  that  1  Has  not 
Agrippina  showed  how  an  obnoxious  husband  may  be 
despatched  ]  And  is  not  Locusta  ready,  with  her  slow 
and  secret  poisons,  to  remove  any  too  long-lived  hus- 
band or  parent  from  the  path  of  love  or  of  avarice  1 
But  why  call  for  the  help  of  Locusta  ? — now  that  the 
art  of  the  most  skilled  juofessional  poisoner  has  been 
outdone  by  many  a  Roman  matron  who — 


128 


JUVENAL. 


"  More  (lext'rous  than  Locusta,  shows 
Her  country  fiiomls  the  Leverage  to  compose, 
And,  'midst  tlie  curses  of  tlie  indignant  throng, 
Bears  in  broad  day  the  spotted  corpse  along."   - 

— Sat.  i.  71. 

Kor  is  this  mere  fiction,  or  even  exaggeration — the  real 
facts  are  as  bad,  if  not  worse  ;  and  the  guilty  wretch, 
far  from  Leing  shamed  into  secrecy,  openly  avows  and 
glories  in  the  crime  : — 

"  Lo  !  Pontia  cries  aloud — 

*  No,  I  performed  it.     See  the  facts  avowed — 
I  nungled  poison  for  my  children,  I ! 

'Twas  found  upon  me  ;  wherefore  then  deny  ?' 
'  What  !  two  at  once,  most  barbarous  viper,  two  ?' 

*  Nay,  seven,  had  seven  been  mine  :  believe  it  true.* " 

—Sat.  vi.  638. 


Thus,  exclaims  the  poet,  all  the  horrors  which  were 
invented  of  old  Ijv  the  tragic  poets  are  actually  per- 
formed Ijefore  our  eyes  : — 

"  AbiT»ad,  at  home,  the  Belides*  you  meet. 
And  Clytemnestras  t  swarm  in  every  street  ; 
But  liere  the  dilference  lies  ;  those  bungling  wives 
With  a  blunt  axe  hacked  out  their  husbands'  lives, 
While  now  the  deed  is  done  witli  dexterous  art, 
And  a  drugged  bowl  }>erforms  the  axe's  part. 
Yet  if  the  husband,  prescient  of  his  fate. 
Have  fortitic'd  his  breast  witli  mithridate, 

*  The  fifty  daugliters  of  Danaus,  king  of  Argos,  who  all, 
except  one,  killed  their  husbands  iu  a  single  night. 

+  Clytennicstra,  the  wife  of  Agamemnon,  is  said  to  liave  killed 
her  liusband  on  his  return  from  the  siege  and  capture  of  Troy. 


WOMEN  AT  ROME. 


129 


In  such  a  case,  reserved  for  such  a  need, 
Rather  than  fail,  the  dagger  does  the  deed." 

—Sat.  vi.  655. 

We  have  dwelt  rather  at  length  on  this  Satire,  and 
given  a  rather  long  resume  of  its  matter,  for  several 
reasons.  Not  only  is  it  the  longest  poem  that  Juvenal 
wrote,  and  composed  with  more  than  ordinary  care, 
and  as  such  worthy  of  attention  if  only  from  a  literary 
point  of  view ;  but  it  also  bears  on  one  of  the  most 
important  questions  of  the  times — on  one  that  in  great 
measure  lay  at  the  root  of  that  disintegration  of  society 
which,  growing  from  year  to  year,  finally  led  to  the 
disruption  of  the  Roman  Empire,  and  with  it  of  the 
whole  structure  of  Western  civilisation,  as  so  well 
expressed  in  the  words  of  Horace  : — 

**  Our  times,  in  sin  prolific,  first 
The  marriage-bed  with  taint  have  cursed 

And  family  and  home  ; 
This  is  the  fountain-head  of  all 
The  sorrows  and  the  ills  that  fall 

On  Romans  and  on  Rome." 

The  greater  portion  of  the  poem  will,  however,  call 
neither  for  explanation  nor  for  comment.  The  super- 
stitions of  women,  their  faithlessness,  their  lavish  use 
of  cosmetics,  and  all  the  apparatus  of  the  perfum- 
er's art,  their  craving  after  novelty,  and  their  subser- 
vience to  the  dictates  of  fashion,  have  always  formed  a 
part  of  the  commonplace  of  the  Satirist,  among  all 
societies  in  which  the  sex  has  played  a  prominent  part. 
These,  though  now  and  again  (as,  for  instance,  in  the 
reigns  of  Nero,  Claudius,  or  Domitian)  attracting  a 
A.  c.  vol.  xiii.  I 


130 


JUVENAL. 


larger  share  of  attention,  are  in  all  essential  points 
invaria1>le,  and  admit  of  no  very  great  variety  in  the 
way  of  treatment.  Witli  regard  to  tlic  crimes  of  poison- 
ing and  witchcraft,  and  especially  the  use  of  philtres, 
the  parallel  cases  of  the  Countess  of  Somerset  and  the 
Duchess  of  Brinvilliers  will  occur  to  every  one. 

The  one  branch  of  the  Satire  to  which  no  parallel 
can  be  quoted  in  the  history  of  any  civilised  nation  is 
the  custom  of  lighting  in  the  public  arena.  This,  the 
latest  and  most  extraordinary  fantasy  of  the  sex,  is,  as 
we  have  seen,  more  than  once  alluded  to  by  Juvenal ; 
and  incredible  as  the  charge  might  otherwise  be  held, 
the  most  sensational  accusation  of  the  Satirist  is  fully 
supported  by  the  independent  evidence  of  more  than 
one  historian  of  the  time.  Tacitus,  in  his  history  of 
the  reign  of  Nero,  writes  :  "  In  the  same  year  were  ex- 
hibited gladiatorial  shows  on  a  scale  no  less  magnifi- 
cent than  those  of  pre\nous  years  ;  but  many  women  of 
noble  l>irth,  and  many  senators,  disgi*aced  themselves 
by  appearing  in  the  arena."  Suetonius  also  expressly 
asserts  that  women  took  part  as  combatants  on  the  oc- 
casion of  some  shows  being  celebrated  in  the  reign  of 
Domitian.  The  practice  was  not  put  down  till  the  reign 
of  Septimus  Severus,  when  a  decree  was  passed  making 
such  imlecent  exhibitions  for  the  future  illegal. 

It  is  difficult  to  understand  how  such  a  state  of  things 
could  ever  have  been  tolerated  by  any  Eoman  govern- 
ment ;  and  scarcely  less  difficult  to  realise  the  state  of 
society  in  which  any  woman — above  all,  any  woman  of 
rank — could  voluntarily  engage  in  such  encounters,  Jind 
not  forfeit,  to  bhv  nothing  of  her  own  self-respect,  not 


WOMEN  AT  ROME. 


131 


only  her  position  in  society,  but  even  every  claim  to 
be  looked  on  as  a  woman  at  all.     AYe  shall  perhaps 
not  be  wrong  if  we  attribute  the  phenomenon,  in  part 
at  least,  to  the  reaction  consequent  on  the  relaxation 
of  a  strictly  enforced  code  of  propriety,  followed,  as  in 
our  own  history  at  the  time  of  the  Restoration,  by  a 
general  growth  of  extravagance  and  immorality,  such 
that  any  outrage  on  common  decency  could  hardly  fail 
to  meet  with  pardon  and  applause,  as  being  a  virtual 
protest  against  the  puritanical  notions  of  a  detested  re- 
ijlme.     As  to  the  apparent  indifference  of  the  govern- 
ment on  the  subject,   it  may  be  explained  as  being 
but  a  part  of  the  hereditary  policy  of  the  Empire. 
From  the  days  of  Augustus  it   seems  to   have  been 
a  maxim  with  the  government  to  allow  great  latitude 
to  the  people  both  in  the  discussion  of  religious  ques- 
tions,   and  also   in   social  matters   generally,    in   the 
hope  that  these  might  act  as  safety-valves,  and  give 
a  vent  to  the  more  active  spirits  of  the  day,  and  so 
postpone  the  clash  between  the  government  and  the 
governed,    ^loreover,  the  general  prevalence  of  suicide, 
which  about  this  tine  came  to  be  almost  a  fashion, 
made   it   well-nigh   impossible   for   the   emperor   to 
keep  a  firm   rein  on  any  determined  spirit.      When 
a  man  or  woman  has  once  so  ceased  to  cling  to  life  as 
to  be  ready  to  summon  death  as  a  happy  release  from 
any  momentary  trouble  or  annoyance,  how  shall  any 
power  restrain  them  from  doing  that  which  seems  right 
in  their  own  eyes,  except  by   a  system  of  universal 
coercion,  which  it  would  of  necessity  be  wholly  impos- 
sible to  maintain  ? 


CHArXER  VIII. 


TOWN-LIFE    AT    ROME. 


It  may  be  remenibeicu  by  some  of  our  readers  that 
Martial,  the  contemporary  and  the  friend  of  Juvenal, 
in  addressing  to  him  one  of  his  Epigrams,  condoles 
with  the  poet  on  his  mode  of  life  in  Eome,  as  com- 
pared with  the  ease  and  comfort  of  a  Spanish  farmer's 
existence.  From  many  passages  in  his  poems  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  Juvenal  fully  felt  all  the  discom- 
forts of  a  life  in  the  capital,  though,  perhaps,  like  our 
own  Johnson,  he  would  not  have  been  willing  to  part 
witli  those  discomforts  on  the  condition  of  having  to 
submit  to  a  long  absence  from  the  great  focus  of  all 
social  and  political  life.  In  the  time  of  Juvenal,  Rome 
had  long  ceased  to  be  the  mere  capital  of  an  Itahan 
state  :  it  w\as  the  great  metropolis  of  the  world,  the 
centre  to  which  flocked  all  needy  adventurers,  all  men 
who  hoped  to  raise  their  fortunes  or  to  escape  from  the 
hands  of  justice. 

"  Long  since  the  stream  that  wanton  Syria  laves 
Has  disenibogui'd  its  tiUh  in  Til)ci''s  waves, 


TOWS-LIFE  AT  ROME. 


133 


Its  language,  arts  ;  o'erwhelmed  us  with  the  scum 
Of  Antioch's  streets,  its  minstrel,  harp,  and  drum. 
Hie  to  the  circus  !  ye  who  want  to  j trove 
A  barbarous  mistress,  an  outlandish  love  ; 
Hie  to  the  circus  !     There  in  crowds  they  stand, 
Tires  on  their  head,  and  timbrels  in  their  hand." 

— Sat.  iii.  62. 

There  was,  however,  one  striking  peculiarity  that 
calls  for  notice  as  regards  the  constitution  of  that 
population.  There  was  in  Eome  no  middle  class. 
The  npper  layer  of  society  consisted  partly  of  old 
Roman  families,  who  clung  to  the  ancient  cradle  of 
their  race  with  a  patriotic  fondness,  and  w^ere  besides, 
for  the  most  part,  connected  with  the  carrying  on  of 
the  government ;  partly  of  the  retinue  of  the  court,  the 
favourites  of  the  emperor,  and  his  wealthy  freed- 
men.  In  the  lower  part  was  to  be  found  the 
"  Plebs  Romana."  The  name  was  still  retained,  but 
it  was  now  by  no  means  the  same  honourable  title 
which  it  had  been  in  former  times.  The  Roman  citi- 
zens had  long  since  ceased  to  have  any  political 
honour  or  responsibility,  and  now  even  their  influ- 
ence in  the  w^orld  of  politics  was  gone.  Their  ap- 
proval, when  it  was  thought  worth  asking,  might  be 
had  at  the  price  of  a  gratuitous  admission  to  the 
amusements  of  the  circus  or  of  an  extra  gladiatorial 
Bhow : — 

"  For  since  their  votes  have  been  no  longer  bought. 
All  public  care  has  vanished  from  their  thought ; 
And  those  who  once,  with  unresisting  sway, 
Gave  armies,  empire,  everything  away. 


134 


JUVENAL. 


For  two  poor  claims  have  long  renoimcGd  the  whole, 
And  only  ask — the  Circus  and  the  Dole."* 

—Sat.  X.  77. 

licsides  these,  the  lower  part  of  the  city  swarmed  with 
needy  foreigners  from  every  part  of  the  ^Mediterranean 
coasts,  who  had  come  to  Itome  to  live  by  tlieir  wits, 
and  attracted  also,  in  many  cases,  by  the  dole  of  corn, 
and  the  free  admission  to  tlie  circus,  the  theatres,  and 
the  baths — the  "Panis  et  Circenses"  of  the  Eoman 
ral)l)le.  It  was  from  among  this  class  that  were  drawn 
the  clients  of  the  great  houses,  who  thronged  the  court- 
yard of  the  patron  under  whom  they  had  enrolled  them- 
selves from  the  very  earliest  hour  possible.  Juvenal, 
indeed,  would  seem  to  imply  that  among  this  crowd  of 
needy  suppliants  might  often  be  found  men  of  consular 
family,  who  in  rank  and  lineage  far  surpassed  their 
protectors : — 

"  *  Come  forth,  ye  great  Dardanians,  from  the  crowd  !  * 
For  mixed  with  us  e'en  these  besiege  tlie  door, 
And  scramble  for — the  pittance  of  the  poor  ! 

*  Despatch  the  rra}tor  first,'  the  master  cries, 

*  And  next  the  Tribune  ! ' " 

—Sat.  i.  100. 

But  in  this  we  can  hardly  look  on  him  as  a  trust- 
worthy witness,  for  we  knoAv  from  other  sources  that 
the  emperors  were  most  unwilling  to  permit  any  of  the 
ancient  families  to  fall  into  utter  decay,  and  were 
ready  to  prevent  such  a  calamity  by  large  presents 
from  their  own  private  treasuries. 

*  For  a  description  of  the  "sportula  "  or  **  dole,"  the  reader 
is  referred  to  p.  136. 


TOW  X  LIFE  AT  ROME. 


135 


These  two  sections  of  society  occupied,  as  a  rule, 
utterly  distinct  parts  of  the  town.  The  poorer  classes 
were  huddled  together  in  the  lower  parts  of  the  city— 
in  the  valleys,  that  is,  which  occupied  the  low  lands 
on  the  south  side  of  the  Tiber,  and  separated  the  seven 
hills  of  Rome  one  from  the  other.  The  houses  in 
these  parts  were  buHt  to  a  great  height,  frequently 
beyond  what  was  by  any  means  safe  : — 

"  Half  the  city  here  by  shores  is  staid, 
And  feeble  cramps  that  lend  a  treacherous  aid  ; 
For  thus  the  stewards  patch  the  riven  wall. 
Thus  prop  the  mansion  tottering  to  its  fall : 
Then  bid  the  tenant  court  secure  repose. 
While  the  pile  nods  to  every  blast  that  blows." 

—Sat.  iii.  193. 

But  lofty  as  were  the  houses,  they  supplied  but  scanty 
accommodation  for  the  vast  population  which  desired 
to  find  accommodation  within  them.     The  result  was 
that,  as  in  the  poorer  districts  of  the  large  towns  of 
our  own  day,  whole  families  were  forced  to  be  c(tii- 
tented  with  a  single  room  to  serve  every  purpose. 
True,   this   was   of  less   consequence   in   a   southern 
climate,  where  during  the  greater  portion  of  the  year 
an  outdoor  life  was  the  most  healthy  as  well  as  the 
most  pleasant ;  nevertheless  the  hardship  was  felt,  and 
at  times  felt  severely.     It  is  not,  however,  on  the  in- 
habitants of  these  tenements  that  Juvenal  pours  out 
his  fiercest  satire.     He  does  indeed  blame  them,  but 
the  blame  is  for  the  most  part  mixed  with  pity,  as  for 
men  who  were  rather  what  the  circumstances  of  their 
lives  made  them,  than  those  who  had  established  their 


136 


JUVENAL. 


own  position  and  were  responsible  for  it.     Xo,  it  was 
on  the  upper  classes— on  the  self-styled  "lords'  of  the 
earth"— that  he   poui-s  out  the  vials   of  his   wrath. 
These,  when  they  lived  at  home,  occupied  mansions  of 
a  very  different  description,  not  built  alongside  of  the 
narrow  and  crooked  city  lanes,  but  situated  within 
their  own  grounds,  on  the  slope  or  summit  of  some 
one  of  the  hills  of  Eome— sumptuous  palaces,  where 
the  haughty  occupants  lived  undisturbed  by  the  tur- 
moil of  the  city,  except  when,  in  the  early  morning, 
their  own  pecidiar  clients  attended  at  a  sort  of  levee, 
to  which  the  first  two  hours  of  the  day  were  devoted, 
there  to  receive  the  "sportula,"  or  daily  dole,  which  it 
was  customary  for  the  wealthy  "patronus"  to  deal  out 
to  any  client  who  chose  to  apply  for  it.    This  "  dole  " 
had  originally  been  a  light  meal,  which  was  provided  by 
the  "  patronus  "  in  the  main  hall  of  his  mansion ;  but 
in  time,  as  motives  of  ostentation  took  the  place  of  real 
hospitality,  instead  of  the  meal  a  portion  of  food  was 
given  to  each  man.     This  was  carried  away  in  baskets 
("sportulie"),  either  at  the  time  of  the  morning  levee 
or  in  the  afternoon,  according  to  the  convenience°of  the 
recipient.     It  was,  however,  not  unusual  to  substitute 
for  this  dole  of  food  a  small  sum  of  money— some- 
what less  than  a  shilling.     Thus  only  the  chosen  few 
had  the  honour  of  taking  their  meal  with  the  master 
of  the   house,  and   that   only  by  special   invitation. 
This  shabby  avarice   of  the  wealthy  is  one   of  the 
first   quarrels  which   Juvenal  has  with  them.     How 
different,  he  exclaims,  is  their  conduct  from  that  of 
fonner  days ! — 


TOWN-LIFE  AT  ROME. 


137 


"  Then  plain  and  open  was  the  cheerful  feast, 
And  every  client  was  a  bidden  guest ; 
Now  at  the  gate  a  paltry  largess  lies, 
And  eager  hands  and  tongues  dispute  the  prize. 
But  first  (lest  some  false  claimant  should  be  found) 
The  weary  steward  takes  his  anxious  round, 
And  pries  in  every  face." 

—Sat.  i.  95. 

After  the  first  two  hours  of  the  day  had  been  thus 
spent,  the  noble  Eoman  would  go  forth,  if  a  senator, 
to  the  senate-house,  or  else  to  the  forum,  and  there 
transact  either  his  own  business  or  that  of  the  State, 
and  would  there  be  ready  to  plead  the  cause  of  any 
client  who  might  be  engaged  in  a  lawsuit. 

Thus,  till  eleven  o'clock,  the  day  was  devoted  by 
all  Romans,  who  had  any  pretensions  to  an  active  life, 
to  their  more  serious  pursuits.  At  eleven  our  citizen 
would  return  home,  attended  by  many  a  client  who 
had  followed  him  in  hopes  of  an  invitation  to  the 
evening  meal.  Vain  hope,  at  aU  events  in  most 
cases : — 

"  Returning  home,  he  drops  them  at  the  gate  ; 
And  now  the  weary  clients,  wise  too  late, 
Resign  their  hopes,  and  supperless  retire 
To  spend  their  paltry  dole  on  herbs  and  fire." 

—Sat.  i.  32. 

The  next  hour  was  sacred  to  the  mid-day  siesta; 
and  from  eleven  till  twelve  the  whole  town  was 
wrapped  in  unbroken  silence.  The  siesta  over,  Rome 
woke  up  again  to  pleasure  and  idleness,  except  in  the 
few  cases  where  arrears  of  the  morning's  work  had  to 


138 


JUVENAL. 


be  made  up.  N'ow,  if  you  wished,  you  might  go  and 
hear  Codrus  bawl  out  his  "Theseid"  to  an  unwilling 
audience,  or  more  pleasantly  spend  an  hour  listening 
to  the  sweet  modulations  of  Statius's  voice,  as  he  read 
out  parts  of  his  unfinished  "Thebaid"  to  a  delighted 
crowd.  This  was  the  time  when  poets  and  historians 
would,  if  they  could  by  any  means  assemble  an  audi- 
ence, declaim  their  works  in  public  in  hopes  of  found- 
ing a  reputation ;  wliile  others,  whom  frequent  failure 
had  made  desperate,  waited  till  the  bathing-hour,  and 
would  then  assault  the  ears  of  the  disgusted  but  help- 
less bathei-s.  Or,  if  you  wished,  you  might  now 
repair  to  the  circus,  and,  under  the  guidance  of  the 
great  censor  of  manners,  watch  with  indignation 

"  Mae  via,  with  naked  breast,  transfix  a  Tuscan  boar."  ♦ 

—Sat.  i.  22. 

Or  the  high-born  Gracchus,  or  some  other  noble,  step 
forth : — 

"  No  sword  his  thigh  invests, 
No  helmet,  shield— such  armour  he  detests, 
Detests  and  spurns,  and  impudently  stands 
With  a  poised  net  and  trident  in  his  hands. 
The  foe  advances.     Lo  !  a  cast  he  tries, 
But  misses,  and  in  frantic  terror  flies 
Round  the  thronged  cinpie  ;  and,  anxious  to  be  known. 
Lifts  his  bare  face,  with  many  a  piteous  moan." 

—Sat.  viii.  200. 

Else  you  might  go  to  the  theatre,  and  there  see 

*  For  an  account  of  the  active  part  taken  by  the  Roman 
women  in  the  games  of  the  Amphitheatre,  the  reader  is  referred 
to  p.  130. 


TOWN -LIFE  AT  ROME. 


139 


«  The  hired  Patrician's  low  buffoonery  ; 
Laugh  at  the  Fabii's  tricks,  and  grin  to  hear 
The^'culls  resound  from  the  Mamerci's  ear  !  " 

—Sat  viii.  190. 

It  was,  however,  seldom  that  a  patrician  would  be 
seen  on  the  stage ;  even  the  most  reckless  would  hesi- 
tate before  breaking  with  the  prejudice  dearest  to  the 
Eomans  in  so  open  a  manner.  It  was  bad  enough 
that  any  free-born  citizen  should  disgrace  himself  by 
public  acting— a  profession  which  lloman  usage  had 
always  limited  to  slaves  and  foreigners ;  but  that  one 
of  patrician  race  should  do  so  was  in  a  manner  an 
insult  to  the  entire  nation.  Not  even  the  example  of 
Nero,  who,  when  emperor,  sang  and  played  on  the 
public  stage,  could  reconcile  the  Romans  to  such  a 
breach  of  ancient  custom ;  and,  in  truth,  it  was  this 
very  singing  and  acting  of  his  that  more  than  aught 
else  led  to  Nero's  unpopularity  and  downfall 

"  Wlio,  Nero,  so  depraved,  if  choice  were  free, 
To  hesitate  'twixt  Seneca  and  thee  ? 
Whose  crimes,  so  much  have  they  all  crimes  outgone, 
Deserve  more  serpents,  apes,  and  sacks  than  one.* 
Not  so,  thou  say'st ;  there  are,  whom  I  could  name, 
As  deep  in  guilt,  and  as  accursed  in  fame  ; 
Orestes  slew  his  mother.     True,  but  know, 
The  same  effect  from  different  causes  flow : 
A  father  murdered  at  the  social  board, 
And  Heaven's  command,  unsheathed  his  righteous  sword. 

♦  The  old  Roman  law  commanded  that  the  convicted  parri- 
cide should  be  sewn  up  in  a  sack  with  a  viper,  an  ape,  a  dog, 
and  a  cock,  and  then  cast  into  the  sea. 


140 


JUVENAL. 


Besides,  Orestes,  in  liis  wildest  mood, 

Poisoned  no  cousin,  shed  no  consort's  blood, 

Buried  no  poniard  in  a  sister's  throat. 

Sung  on  no  public  sta<,'e,  no  Troicks  wrote. 

This  toppe<l  his  frantic  crimes— this  roused  mankind  ; 

For  what  could  Galba,  what  Virginius  find 

In  the  dire  annals  of  that  dismal  reign 

Which  called  for  vengeance  in  a  louder  strain  ? 

Lo,  here  the  arts,  the  studies  that  engage 

The  world's  great  master,  on  a  foreign  stage 

To  prostitute  his  voice  for  base  renown. 

And  ravish  from  the  Greeks  a  parsley  cro\\Ti  ! " 

-Sat.  viii.  212. 

As  a  rule,  therefore,  the  parts  in  a  play  would  all  l)o 
taken  by  Greeks,  who  were,  by  tlie  natural  bent  of 
their  nation,  exquisitely  adapted  for  the  stage. 

From  the  public  spectacle  the  citizen  would  make 
for  the  baths  of  Agrippa.  Entering  them,  he  would 
be  provided  at  the  State  expense  with  spacious  liatli- 
rooms,  supplied  with  hot  or  cold  water,  and  attendants 
ready  to  his  call.  Outside  these  lay  enclosed  spaces, 
where  he  might  join  in  a  game  of  ball,  or  take  more 
violent  exercise  in  the  gymnasium  or  palestra,  as  a 
preparation  for  tlie  bath.  Here  an  hour  or  more 
would  be  spent,  partly  in  the  water,  partly  in  the 
marble-paved  halls,  watching  the  other  bathers,  or 
listening  to  some  poet  who  mouthed  out  his  last  work 
till  the  columns  echoed  again,  hoping  for  a  more 
lenient  audience  among  men  exhilarated  by  the  fresh- 
ness of  the  air  and  water,  and  who  were  conscious  of 
having  ended  the  work  of  the  day.  Here,  too,  might  also 
be  heard  the  latest  extravagance  of  the  philosophy  of 


TOWN-LIFE  AT  ROME, 


141 


the  day,  the  last  ingenious  turn  given  to  the  tenets  of 
Epicurus  or  to  the  arguments  of  Zeno.  The  bearded 
Stoic,  in  his  long  mantle,  followed  by  a  small  knot  of 
admirers,  would  pace  around,  and  prove  that  the  Stoic 
was  alone  happy,  and,  by  virtue  of  his  philosophy, 
alone  fit  ruler  over  his  fellow-men  ;  while  the  more 
practical  Epicurean  laid  down  precepts  for  the  pursuit 
of  happiness,  professing  only  to  teach  men  how  to 
pluck  the  blossom  of  the  fleeting  hours.  From  the 
bath  our  client,  if  he  were  fortunate  enough  to  have 
obtained  in  the  morning  an  invitation  to  sup  with  his 
patron,  would  make  the  best  of  his  way  to  his  man- 
sion upon  the  Esquiline  hill.  To  reach  it  he  would 
have  to  thread  the  maze  of  the  narrow  and  tortuous 
lanes  of  the  Suburra,  past  many  brawling  taverns, 
where  a  few  drinkers  had  already  assembled  for  their 
evening  bout ;  in  between  the  rumbling  carts  and  the 
shouting  drovers,  who  would  chafe  at  each  delay  in 
the  route  in  no  gentle  language.  He  might  cast  a 
glance  in  passing  at  the  troop  of  professional  beggars, 
seated  each  on  his  square  of  matting,  trying  to  impose 
on  the  passer-by  with  their  various  tricks  and  unblush- 
ing effrontery  ;  or — a  fresh  proof  that  there  is  nothing 
new  under  the  sun — 

"  The  ingenious  sailor, 
Who  shows,  where  tears,  where  supplications  fail, 
A  daubing  of  his  melancholy  tale." 

—  Sat.  xiv.  300. 


And  now  he  would  be  violently  jostled  on  one  side  by 
the  surging  crowd,  as  it  parted  in  haste  to  make  way 


142 


JUVENAL. 


for  the  litter  of  some  wealthy  patrician,  and  to  avoid 
the  blows  of  liis  tall  Li])urnian  slaves  as  they  laid 
about  thi'm  right  an.l  left  to  open  a  lane  for  their 
master,  or  trampled  down  those  who  were  too  weak  to 
resist,  or  too  slow  to  avoid  them.  Meanwhile  the 
client, — 

"  By  the  throng 
Ell)owed  and  jostled,  scarce  can  creep  along, 
Sharp  strokes  from  poles,  tubs,  rafters,  doomed  to  feel. 
And  plastered  o'er  with  nnid  from  head  to  heel." 

—Sat.  iii.  244. 

Kor  was  the  progress  through  these  narrow  lanes  un- 
attended with  danger  to  life  or  limb.  Drivers  of  carts 
and  vans  seem  to  have  been  as  reckless  then  as  they 
now  are  : — 


"  Hark  !  groaning  on,  the  unwieldy  waggon  spreads 
Its  cumbrous  load,  tremendous  !     0\t  our  heads 
Projecting  elm  or  pine,  that  nods  on  high, 
And  tlireateiis  death  to  every  passer  by. 
Heavens  !  should  the  axle  crack,  wliicli  boar.';  a  weight 
Of  huge  Liguiian  stone,  and  pour  the  freiglit 
On  the  pale  crowd  licueath,  what  wouM  remain, 
Wliat  joint,  wluit  bone,  what  atom  of  the  slain  ? 

^b'allwhile,  unconscious  of  their  fellows'  fate 
At  home,  they  heat  the  water,  scour  the  ])late, 
Arrange  the  strigils,  till  the  cruse  with  oil, 
And  ply  their  several  tasks  with  fruitless  toil  ; 
For  he  who  bore  the  dole,  poor  mangled  ghost, 
Sits  pale  and  trend^ling  on  the  Stygian  roast, 
Scare<l  at  the  horrors  of  the  novel  scene, 
At  Charon's  threatening  voice  and  scowling  nuen, 


TOWN -LIFE  AT  ROME. 


143 


Nor  hopes  a  passage,  thus  abruptly  hurled. 
Without  liis  farthing,  to  the  nether  world." 

—Sat.  iii.  254. 

Approaching  nearer  to  his  patron's  house,  our  friend 
Trebius  meets  a  string  of  clients  less  fortunate  than 
himself,  bearing  away  the  dole  which  was  given  in  the 
morning.  The  viands  themselves  are  kept  hot  in  a 
portable  kitchen,  and  the  Avhole  apparatus 

"  With  steady  neck  a  puny  slave  must  bear, 
And  lest  amid  the  way  the  flames  expire. 
Glide  nimbly  on,  and  gliding  fan  the  fire." 

And  now  Trebius  has  at  length  reached  his  goal,  to 
find,  however,  only  too  soon,  that  it  is  but  little  plea- 
sure he  may  expect  from  this  banquet ;  and  yet  it  must 
stand  for  payment  in  full  of  many  a  menial  service,  of 
much  slavish  flattery. 

In  the  first  place  it  is  clear  that  he  has  been  asked, 
at  the  last  moment,  merely  to  fill  up  a  place  which  a 
late  excuse  had  left  empty,  and  to  make  sport  for  the 
more  favoured  guests.  The  very  servants  know  the 
difference  between  the  needy  client  and  the  wealthy 
friend,  and  make  Trebius  feel  his  position  at  every  op- 
portunity. The  guests  having  taken  their  places,  and 
their  hands  and  feet  having  been  washed  by  the  at- 
tendants, wine  is  handed  round  to  whet  the  appetite. 
And  what  wine  it  is  ! — rank,  heady,  ropy,  served  in  a 
cracked  and  worthless  cup,  while  Virro  himself  quaffs 
from  a  chased  and  jewelled  goblet  a  choice  vintage  iced 
with  snow  from  the  top  of  Mount  Soracte.     Course 


144 


JUVENAL, 


TOWN-LIFE  AT  ROME. 


145 


after  course  follows,  and  in  all  the  same  contrast  is 
observed  : — 

"A  lobster  introduced  in  state 
Stretches  enormous  o'er  the  bending  plate ! 
Proud  of  a  length  of  tail,  he  seems  to  eye 
The  humbler  guests  with  scorn,  as,  towering  by, 
He  takes  the  place  of  honour  at  the  board, 
And  crowned  with  costly  pickles  greets  the  lord." 

—Sat.  V.  80. 

While  the  poor  client  has  but  a  mangy  crab  to  eat  with 
his  coarse  and  gritty  bread — 

"  Black  mouldy  fragments  which  defy  the  saw, 
The  mere  despair  of  every  aching  jaw, 
While  manchets,  of  the  finest  flour,  are  set 
Before  your  lord." 

— Sat.  V.  68. 
Then  a  red  mullet  is  carried  in,  but  not  for  Trebius  • 
for  him  a  half-starved  pike  and  rancid  oil  must  suffice. 
Meanwhile,  to  add  insult  to  injury,  your  sour  and  ill- 
cooled  wine  is  poured  out  by  a  hideous  raw-boned 
Moor, 

"Whose  hideous  form  the  stoutest  would  affray, 
If  met  by  moonlight  near  the  Latian  way." 

—Sat.  V.  52. 

A  contrast  indeed  to  the  fair  youth  who  waits  on  his 
patron — a  youth 

"  So  dearly  purchased  that  the  joint  estates 
Of  Tullus,  Ancus  would  not  yield  the  sum 
Nor  all  the  wealth  of  all  the  kings  of  Rome. 
A  page  who  costs  so  much  will  ne'er,  be  sure, 
Come  at  yoiu-  beck ;  he  heeds  not,  he,  the  poor. 


But  of  his  youth  and  beauty  justly  vain. 
Trios  by  them  with  indifference  and  disdain." 

— Sat.  V.  56. 

• 

The  custom  of  having  these  beautiful  slaves  as  per- 
sonal attendants  was  introduced  to  Eome  from  the 
luxurious  courts  of  the  conquered  East ;  and  the  en- 
ormous price  paid  for  such  youths  is  a  frequent  topic 
in  the  writings  of  the  time.  N^or  was  the  extravagance 
indulged  in,  to  gratify  the  ruling  fashion  of  the  dining- 
table,  less  prodigious.  Not  only  was  every  sea  swept  to 
produce  fish  of  a  more  delicate  flavour  than  those  sup- 
plied by  the  North  Mediterranean,  but  even  the  very 
expense  of  a  dish  was  an  irresistible  recommendation 
to  the  rich  xmrvenus  who  now  occupied  the  chief  places 
at  Ptome.  For  instance,  we  are  told  of  a  small  fortune 
being  paid  down  for  a  mullet  of  six  pounds  weight, 
though,  except  for  the  rarity  of  its  size,  it  was  no  more 
worthy  of  the  price  than  any  other  fish.  Such  osten- 
tation, however,  was  one  of  the  weakest  points  in  the 
Koman  character,  aptly  satirised  by  Cleopatra,  when,  at 
her  famous  banquet,  she  dissolved  a  priceless  pearl  in 
vinegar,  and  quailed  an  emperor's  ransom  at  a  draught 

The  banquet,  however,  proceeds  through  a  long  suc- 
cession of  dishes  ;  a  fresh  relay  of  fish  comes  on — a 
lamprey  from  the  Sicilian  straits  balanced  by  skinny 
eels,  a  goose's  liver,  a  capon,  a  wild  boar,  huge  mush- 
rooms from  the  plains  of  Africa,  haunches  of  venison, 
hares  and  pullets,  apples  bright  of  hue 

«  As  those  which  in  Alcinous'  garden  grew," 

—Sat.  V.  151. 

A-  c.  vol.  xiii.  K 


146 


JUVENAL. 


come  on  the  table  ;  but  none  will  ever  reach  Trebius. 
At  a  side  table, 

"  To  put  your  patience  to  the  test, 
Lo  !  the  spruce  carver,  to  his  task  addrest, 
Skips  like  a  liarU'(iuiu  from  place  to  place. 
And  waves  his  knife  witli  pantomimic  f^ace, 
Till  every  dish  be  ranged,  and  every  joint 
Severed,  by  nicest  riUes,  from  point  to  point, 
/ou  think  this  folly — 'tis  a  simple  thought. 
To  such  perfection  now  is  carvin*'  broudit. 
That  different  gestures  by  our  curious  men 
Are  used  for  different  dishes — hare  and  hen." 

—Sat.  V.  120. 
At  last,  mortified  and  insulted  in  every  way,  he  must 
retire,  his  hunger  but  half  satisfied,  from  the  board, 
while  the  rest  of  the  company  go  to  another  chamber, 
and  close  the  evening  with  deep  potations,  and  gam- 
bling deeper  still. 

We  will,  however,  leave  them  crowned  with  roses  or 
parsley  to  elect  the  king  of  the  drinking-bout,  and 
cool  their  palates  with  the  iced  vintages  of  Greece  and 
Asia,  and  follow  Trebius  on  his  homeward  journey  to 
liis  solitary  room  in  the  Suburra — a  journey  not  with- 
out its  own  peculiar  dangers.  As  in  modern  Edin- 
burgh, so  in  ancient  Eome,  night  was  the  time  chosen 
by  the  careful  housewife  for  throwing  her  slops  from 
the  upper  windows  into  the  open  drain  that  ran  through 
the  street  beneath.  And  not  only  slops,  but  other 
harder  if  more  cleanly  debris,  descended  from  the  many- 
storied  pile — 

"  Whence  heedless  garrettiers  their  potsherds  throw. 
And  crush  the  unwary  wretch  that  walks  below  ! 


TOWN-LIFE  AT  ROME. 


147 


Clattering,  the  storm  descends  from  heights  unknown, 
Ploughs  up  the  street,  and  wounds  the  ffiuty  stone. 
Pray  then,  and  count  your  humble  prayer  well  sped, 
If  pots  be  only— emptied  on  your  head." 

—Sat.  iii.  274. 

This  danger  escaped,  there  was  another  which  he 
who  traversed  the  city  by  night  had  to  encounter. 
The  streets  of  imperial  Rome  swarmed  with  a  race 
of  bloods  similar  to  the  Mohawks  and  Hectors  who, 
towards  the  close  of  the  last  century,  wandered  forth 
*•  flown  with  insolence  and  wine,"  breaking  windows, 
upsetting  sedans,  beating  quiet  men,  and  offering  rude 
caresses  to  pretty  women.  The  encounter  of  one  of 
these  with  our  poor  client,  as  he  treads  his  way  home- 
ward, husbanding  the  last  glimmer  of  the  modest 
lantern  that  guides  his  steps,  is  described  with  great 
humour  by  JuvenaL 

First,  there  is  a  graphic  sketch  of  the  bully  as  he 
struts  along  the  street  looking  for  his  prey,  but  care- 
fully avoiding  the  patrician  and  his  well-armed  flam- 
beaux-bearers' train.  When  the  solitary  plebeian 
comes  on  the  stage,  "  Stand ! "  cries  his  antagonist ; 
and  then  follows  a  scene  somewhat  like  that  of  the 
wolf  and  lamb  in  the  fable.  The  client  tries  to 
avoid  the  unequal  contest  by  slavish  obsequiousness 
in  vain : — 

"  <  Whence  come  you,  rogue  ?  *  he  cries.     '  Whose  beans 

to-night 
Have  stuffed  you  thus  ?    What  cobbler  clubbed  his  mite 
For  leeks  or  sheep's-head  poiTidge  ?     Dumb,  quite  dumb  ! 
Speak,  or  be  kicked  !     Yet  once  again,  your  home. 


148 


JUVENAL. 


Where  shall  I  find  you  ?    At  what  beggar's  stand, 

Temple,  or  bridge,  whimpering  with  outstretched  hand  V 

Answer  or  answer  not,  lis  all  the  same, 

He  lays  me  on,  and  makes  me  bear  the  blame. 

Before  the  bar  for  beating  him  you  come  ; 

This  is  the  poor  man's  liberty  at  Rome. 

You  beg  his  pardon,  liappy  to  retreat 

With  some  remaining  teeth  to  chew  your  meat." 

—Sat.  iii.  292. 
Suppose  all  these  dangers  past,  there  is  still  the  un- 
happy chance  of  a  lire  in  his  poor  home,  which  may 
burn  his  little  all,  and  leave  him  to  beg  his  livelihood 
in  cold  and  hunger  through  the  street,  ha])py  to  have 
escaped  with  his  bare  life.     Of  course  in  such  narrow 
streets,    flanked    by  such   lofty  liouses,  a  lire   would 
s].read   with    fearful   rai)idity,   and    the    difficulty  of 
escape  would  be  great  indeed ;  and,  in  fact,  we  are 
often  told  of  wi.lespread  conflagrations  at  Home  in 
which  the  loss  of  life  was  enormous,  even  greater  than 
tliat  of  property  ;  the  means  of  quenching  a  fire  being 
miserably  insufficient,  and  amounting  to  little  more 
than  a  few  buckets  of  water  flung  on  by  the  hands  of 
the  neighbours  or  of  the  night-watch,  except  in  those 
desperate  cases  where  the  fire  was  kept  within  bounds 
by  cutting  off,  as  a  last  resource,  the  supply  of  food, 
and  the  neighbouring  houses  feU  a  prey  to  the  hand 
of  man  instead  of  tlie  fire. 

Finally,  nocturnal  marauders  and  highwaymen 
swarmed  in  the  streets  of  Rome,  ready  to  set  the 
police  at  defiance  in  the  most  open  way,  and  to  spread 
terror  througliout  whole  districts  of  the  city  :— 


TOWN-LIFE  AT  ROME. 


119 


"  The  hardened  in  each  ill, 
To  save  complaints  and  prosecution,  kill. 
Chased  from  their  woods  and  bogs,  the  Paddies  come 
To  this  vast  city  as  their  native  home, 
To  live  at  ease,  and  safely  skulk  in  Rome." 

—Sat.  iii.  305. 

Well  indeed  might  Juvenal  exclaim  that  he  pre- 
ferred even  the  df>«ert  crags  of  Prochyta  to  Rome, 
where  honesty  ana  noble  birth,  justice  and  religion, 
were  alike  crushed  and  laughed  to  scorn  by  the 
treachery  of  the  venal  Greek — by  the  adulation  of  the 
slavish  parasite  ! 


CHAPTER  IX. 


JUVEXAL   AXD   HIS   MODERN    IMITATORS. 

Of  aU  English  writers  who  liave  either  imitated  or 
translated  the  Satires  of  Juvenal,  Johnson  is  undoubt- 
edly the  one  to  whom  must  be  assigned  the  highest 
rank.     Whether  we  weigh  these  imitations  on  ^their 
own  intrinsic  merits,  or  as  reproductions  of  the  spirit 
of  the  original,  no  competent  judge  can  deny  them  a 
high  place  in  the  roll  of  literary  fame.     Johnson  has 
left  imitations  of  two  of  the  Satires  of  Juvenal— the 
second  and  the  tenth— under  the  respective  titles  of 
"  London,"  and  "  The  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes."    Of 
these  his  "  Londcm  "  is  in  every  way  the  less  worthy 
of  notice.      It  is  pitched  in  a  decidedly  lower  tone 
than  the  imitation  of  the  tenth  satire ;  and  though  a 
fine  poem,  it  contains  few  passages  of  any  reraarkal)le 
merit.     It  wiU  always  be  read  with  pleasure,  but  it 
will  liardly  rouse  the  enthusiasm  of  the  reader,  who 
will  not  consider  that   the  touclies  of  humour  and 
pathos  which  the   poem  certainly  contains,   compen- 
sate for  a  certain  want  of  natural  flow,  a  tendency  to 
adopt  ai-tiiicial  and  unreal  sentiments,  that  is  far  more 


JUVENAL  AND  HIS  MODERN  IMITATORS.     151 

apparent  here  than  in  the  original.     The  praise  of  a 
country  life  was  not  by  any  means  a  theme  on  which 
Johnson  could  be  expected  to  write  in  his  best  style. 
He  had  not  studied  human  nature  except  as  developed 
in  the  town.     He  knew  little  of  the  country,  and  that 
little  did  not  encourage  him  to  seek  for  more  know- 
ledge.    Fleet  Street  was  to  him  far  more  attractive 
than  any  rural  solitude,  and  the  view  from  Temple 
Bar  more  beautiful  than  the  loveliest  scenery  of  Wales 
or  Scotland.     This  fact  is  sufficient  to  account  for  the 
weakness  of  the  Unes  in  which  Johnson  glorifies  the 
country  at  the  expense  of  the  town  :   lines  that  re- 
mind us  of  Claude's  pictures,  where  rural  simplicity  is 
exemplified  by  nymph-like  sliepherdesses,  courted  by 
musical  and  perfumed  swains.    Here,  for  instance,  is  a 
sketch  of  the  life  that  the  poet's  friend  is  made  to 
propose  to  the  man  who,  weary  of  the  crimes  and 
follies  of  the  metropolis,  should  seek  for  quiet  and 
repose  in  the  seclusion  of  some  country  retreat  as  yet 
unpolluted  by  the  vices  of  civilisation— 

«  There  prune  thy  walks,  support  thy  drooping  flowers, 
Direct  thy  rivulets,  and  twine  thy  bowers  ; 
And,  while  thy  grounds  a  cheap  repast  afford, 
Despise  the  dauities  of  a  venal  lord  : 
There  every  bush  with  Nature's  music  rings, 
There  every  breeze  bears  health  upon  its  wings  ; 
On  all  thy  hours  security  shall  smile, 
And  bless  thine  evening  walk  and  morning  toil." 

It  is  not  easy  to  say  what  sort  and  manner  of  men 
Johnson  here  has  before  his  eyes.  Certainly  the 
description  is  not  like  anything  that  he  would  have 


152 


JUVENAL. 


met  with  in  any  Welsh  county,  or  indeed   in  any 
part  of  England.  ^ 

"London,"  as  is  well  known,  was  written  by  Jolm- 
son  during  a  short  stay  that  he  made  in  Hampstcad 
for  the  beiiefit  of  his  health  in  tlie  year  1738 ;  and  in 
that  qmet  suburban  village  he  may  have  persuaded 
liimself  that  he  really  was  sated  with  the  pleasures 
and  pursuits  of  London,  and  weary  of  its  ceaseless  tur- 
moil.      Soon,   however,  very  far   from   abjurin-   the 
metropolis,  which  was  to  him  a  centre  of  attraction, 
he  returned  to  Iiis  old  love,  clinging  to  her  allurements 
more  closely  than  ever.     Few  will  now  be  found  to 
doubt  that  this  poem,  though  it  contains  many  sonor- 
ous hues,  and  shows  a  very  considerable  command  of 
language  was  very  much  overrated  at  the  time  of  its 
nrst  pubhcation. 

The  plot  of  the  satire  is  briefly  as  follows :  The  poet 
iipon  the  occasion  of  the  departure  of  an  imaginar^ 
friend  from  the  din  of  the  city  to  some  distant  country 
solitude,  praises  his  resolution  while  regretting  the  loss 
of  his  companion;   the  friend  rejoins,  justifying  his 
design  and  setting  forth  the  advantages  which  he  wiU 
derive  from  his  choice.     The  statement  of  these  rea- 
sons  forms  the  bulk  of  the  poem.     The  friend  whom 
Johnson  introduces  has  been  pretty  generally  identi- 
fied with  that  unfortunate  man  Savage,  who,  about 
this  date,  left  London  for  Wales,  there  to  live  on  the 
chanty  of  his  friends.     The  design  was  indeed  well 
earned  out  by  Johnson,   but  it  would   be  probably 
quite  impossible  to  attain  to  excellence  in  the  tj 
which  he  here  set  himself  to  accomplish.     His  genius 


JUVENAL  AND  HIS  MODERN  IMITATORS.     153 

was  fettered  by  the  conditions  that  he  had  imposed 
upon  it,  and  by  trying  to  observe  too  close  a  similarity 
between  his  own  poem  and  the  model  on  wliich  he 
worked,  he  was  forced  to  sacrifice  much  plausibility  in 
the  plot  and  propriety  of  illustration  in  a  vain  attempt 
to  grasp  at  once  two  aims  which  were  wholly  incom- 
patible.    He  might  have  produced  an  excellent  trans- 
lation of  Juvenal's  satire.     He  might  have  taken  that 
satire  as  his  text  and  written  a  poem  really  his  own, 
which,  while  the  general  scope  miglit  have  been  bor- 
rowed, would  yet  have  been  cast  in  a  fresh  mould,  and 
illustrated  with  scenes  antl  characters  more  appropriate 
to  the  times  in  which  the  plot  was  laid.     What  he 
actually  did  write  has  neither  the  merits  of  a  transla- 
tion nor  the  piquancy  and  spontaneity  of  an  original 
poem. 

In   reading  Juvenal   we   cannot   fail  to    see   that 
the  poet,  though  perhaps  hardly  sincere  in  the  con- 
tempt which  he  pours  on  the  active  life  of  Rome,  is 
yet  \\Titing  out  of  the  fulness  of  his  heart,  as  he  criti- 
cises with  an  impetuous  flow  of  sarcasm  things  that  he 
has  seen  with  his  own  eyes  and  heard  with  his  own 
ears.     When  we  read  Johnson's  version  we  cannot  get 
rid  of  the  feeling  that  many  ol  his  ideas  are  not  really 
called  for  by  the  exigencies  of  the  poem,  and  would 
never  have  found  a  place  there  had  it  not  been  for  the 
desire  not  to  omit  any  stroke  of  satire  or  political  allu- 
sion that  had  been  made  a  point  of  in  the  original. 
We  may  especially  notice  as  an  example  of  this  unfor- 
tunate mode  of  treatment  the  description  of  Greenwich 
at  the  opening  of  the  poem.     This  would  seem  to  be 


154 


JUVENAL. 


introdaced  simply  in  order  to  match  the  account  of 
the  grove  and  fountain  of  Egeria,  and  in  order  that  an 
indirect  sort  of  parallel  may  he  hinto.l  at  between  the 
inspired  ^  ymj.h  of  .\uma  and  the  Virgin  Queen      So 
again,  the  burning  of  the  house  of  Arturius,  and  the 
liuniorous  assertion  that  the  many  contributions  he 
received  from  his  friends,  as  marks  of  sympathy  for  his 
ioss,  made  him  even  more  wealthy  than  before,  thou-di 
quite   m   accord   with  Koman   manners,   will  hardly 
justify   to   the   English    reader   the    introduction    of 
t)rgilios  similar  misfortune  and  good  luck.      Many 
parts  of  Johnson's  poem  are,  however,  quite  free  from 
tins   blemish;    es],ecially   those   passages   where   the 
thought  IS  one  that  is,  from  its  nature,  equally  appli- 
cable  to  all  times.    Looking  at  his  own  life,  at  his  own 
.lisappomted    hopes    an.l    blighted    career,    Johnson 
nnght  well  exclaim  that,  in  his  time,  just  as  in  that  of 
J  uvenal, 

"  This  mournful  truth  is  everywhere  confessed, 
blow  rises  worth  by  i)overty  depressed.'' 

luom  his  own  experience  he  could  furnish  many 
examples  of  the  keen  sting  left  behind  by  the  sarcasm 
of  a  rich  fool  which  tlie  hungry  author  did  not  dare 
re^nt.     Often  must  lie  liave  felt  in  his  own  person, 

"  Of  all  the  griefs  that  liarass  the  distressed 
feure  the  most  bitter  is  a  scornful  jest  • 
Fate  never  wounds  more  deep  the  generous  heart, 
Than  when  a  blockhead's  insult  points  the  dart.'' 

The  most  successful  parts  of  the  satire  are,  however, 


JUVENAL  AND  HIS  MODERN  IMITATORS.     155 

unquestionably  those  in  which  Johnson  pours  out  his 
indignation  upon  the  French,  in  imitation  of  Juvenal's 
invective  against  the  Greeks  j  or  where  he  describes 
the  unseemly  brawls  or  the  murderous  encounters  that 
might  have  been   seen  almost   nightly  by  any  man 
whom  business  or  pleasure  detained  till  late  in  the  ill- 
lighted  streets  of  London.     Such  scenes  he  must  often 
have  himself  witnessed  in  his  midnight  rambles  ;  and 
the  lines  in  which  he  satirises  the  IMohawk  of  the 
Strand,  are  little  if  at  all  inferior  to  Juvenal's  ren- 
contre between  the  poor  plebeian  and  the  patrician 
fire-eater : — 

"  Some  fiery  fop,  with  new  commission  vain. 
Who  slee])s  on  ))rambles  till  he  kills  his  man ; 
Some  frolic  drunkard,  reeling  from  a  feast, 
Provokes  a  broil,  and  stabs  you  for  a  jest. 
Yet  ev'n  these  heroes,  mischievously  gay. 
Lords  of  the  street,  and  terrors  of  the  way  ; 
Flushed  as  they  are  with  folly,  youth,  and  wine, 
Tlieir  prudent  insults  to  the  poor  confine  ; 
Afar  they  mark  tlie  flambeau's  bright  approach, 
And  shun  the  shining  train,  and  golden  coach." 

The  imitation  of  the  tenth  satu-e  is  a  poem  in  every 
way  superior  to  "  London."  In  the  ten  years  that 
intervened  between  the  production  of  these  two  satires, 
Johnson's  powers  as  a  writer  had  made  decided  pro- 
gress, and  "  The  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes  "  was  a  sub- 
ject on  which  he  always  wrote  with  vigour  and  elegance. 
In  this  poem,  too,  Johnson  shows  himself  a  far  less 
close  imitator,  and  is  thus  able  to  give  his  genius  a 
wider  range.  The  lines  no  longer  seem  to  labour  under 
the  cramping  demands  of  a  translation ;  and  Johnson 


156 


JUVENAL. 


IS  here  able  to  show  that  lie  was  endowed  with  a  fair 
share  of  the  poet's  divine  breath.     Like  Juvenal  he 
introduces   his  sul.ject   by  a  few  lines  deplorin-  \he 
unhappy  late  of  man,  who,  deluded  by  hope  and'fear 
by  desire  and  hate,  ' 

"  Slums  fancied  ills,  and  chooses  airy  good ;" 

who  is  so  little  able  to  guide  his  own  life  that  those 
things  which  he  longs  for  most  eagerly  will  often 
when  attained,  bring  nothing  but  misery  and  ruin  in 
their  train.  Tliis  is  tlie  general  tlieme  of  the  satire  • 
and  in  proof  of  its  truth  are  adduced  many  examples 
of  men  whose  amlntion  has  been  baffled  by  that  whicii 
seemed  to  be  their  chiefest  boast,  wliose  pride  has  been 
brought  down  to  the  very  dust  through  the  qualities 
in  which  they  had  most  gloried  themselves 

First,  the  fldl  of  Cardinal  Wolsey  is  given  as  a  paral- 
lel to  that  of  Sejanus  in  Juvenal.     Here  the  palm  of 
superior  merit  must  undoubtedly  be  awarded  to  Ju- 
venal.    His  graphic  an.l  impassioned  account  of  the 
tumultuous  scenes  in  the  streets  of  Eome  immediately 
after  the  condemnation  and  death  of  the  hated  favourite 
IS  incomparably  grand.     AVe  seem  to  see  the  houses 
all  decked  with  laurel  branches  as  for  a  victory  •  to 
hear  the  anxious  hum  of  the  crowds  of  citizens,  as  they 
collect  lialf  in  joy,  half  in  terror,  at  the  awful  rapidity 
of  the  blow,  and  swell  into  a  universal  roar  of  execration 
as  the  hated  features  of  Sejanus  are  recognised.    Every- 
where  are  his  statues  hurled  from  their  pedestals  and    ' 
r.dled  into  the  bonfires  roaring  ready  for  their  prey  • 
whde  his  lifeless  and  mutilated  corpse  is  itself  dragged 


JUVENAL  AND  HIS  MODERN  IMITATORS.     157 

amid  ignominy  and  derision  through  the  streets,  ex- 
posed to  the  mean  insults  of  the  cowardly  populace, 
that  was  but  one  short  day  before  ready  to  shout  "  long 
life  and  prosperity  to  Emperor  Sejanus." 

Johnson  has  here  failed  to  reach  the  high  excellence 
of  his  model,  yet  his  failure  is  not  ignominious.  The 
description  of  the  great  prelate  as  he  stood  forth  in  all 
the  haughtiness  of  power,  rivalling  the  king  himself  in 
the  magnificence  of  his  retinue  and  the  authority  of  his 
command,  is  with  considerable  skill  made  to  lead  up  to 
the  sudden  catastrophe  by  which  the  whole  edifice  of 
dignity  and  wealth  is  in  a  moment  swept  away. 

**  In  full-blown  dignity,  see  Wolsey  stand, 
Law  ill  his  voice,  and  fortune  in  his  hand  : 
To  him  the  Church,  the  realm,  their  powers  consign, 
Through  him  the  rays  of  regal  bounty  shine, 
Turned  by  his  nod  the  stream  of  honour  flows, 
His  smile  alone  security  bestows  : 
Still  to  new  heights  his  restless  wishes  tower. 
Claim  leads  to  claim,  and  power  advances  power ; 
Till  conquest  unresisted  ceased  to  please. 
And  rights  submitted  left  him  none  to  seize." 

The  blindness  of  man  is  next  exemplified  by  the 
miserable  portion  that  awaits  the  aspirant  to  literary 
fame.  Here  Johnson's  pathetic  enumeration  of  mis- 
fortunes and  rebuffs  that  the  author  must  expect — of 
his  hunger  and  nakedness — of  Ids  shifts  to  satisfy  the 
bare  demands  of  nature — of  the  patron's  cruel  coldness, 
and  the  yet  more  cruel  neglect  of  the  learned — of  the 
emptiness  of  success  that  comes  only  when  success  has 
lost  its  charms,  and  has  no  longer  any  value  for  one 


158 


JUVENAL. 


who  has  outlived  the  enthusiasm  of  youth,  and  in  the 
desolateness  of  ohl  age  has  none  to  wliom  he  might 
impart  tlie  pleasure  of  gratified  ambition— is  fulfof 
the  truest  and  most  toucliing  pathos.  Very  far  superior 
in  execution,  it  must  be  owned,  is  the  whole  passa-e 
to  Juvenal's  somewhat  frigid  lamentation  over  the  fate 
of  Demosthenes  and  Cicero. 

"  When  first  the  college  rolls  receive  his  name, 
The  young  enthusiast  quits  his  ease  for  fauiJ; 
Resistless  bums  tlie  fever  of  renown, 
Caught  from  the  strong  contagion  of  the  gown : 
O  er  Bodley'a  dome  his  future  labours  spread, 
And  Bacon's  mansion  trembles  o'er  his  head  ' 
Are  these  thy  views  ?     Proceed,  illustrious  vouth, 
And  \  irtue  guard  thee  to  the  throne  of  Truth  ' 
Yet,  should  thy  soul  indulge  the  gen'rous  heat" 
liil  captive  Science  yields  her  last  retreat ; 
Should  Reason  guide  thee  with  her  brightest  ray 
And  pour  on  misty  Doubt  resistless  day; 
Shouhl  no  lalse  kindness  lure  to  loose  dehrrht. 
Nor  praise  relax,  nor  dithculty  fright ;        ° 
Should  tempting  Novelty  thy  celf  refrain, 
And  Slotli  efliise  her  opiate  fumes  in  vain  • 
Should  Beauty  blunt  on  fops  her  fatal  dart' 
Nor  cLiim  the  triumph  of  a  lettered  heart  ; 
Should  no  disease  thy  torpid  veins  invade,' 
Nor  Melancholy's  phantoms  haunt  thv  shade  • 
Yet  hope  nor  life  from  grief  or  danger  free. 
Nor  think  the  doom  of  man  reverse"]  for  thee  • 
Beign  on  the  passing  world  to  turn  thine  eves,' 
And  i.ause  awhile  from  Letters,  to  be  wise^; 
Tliere  mark  what  ills  the  scholar's  life  assai'l, 
Toil,  en\y,  want,  the  patron,  and  the  gaol. 
See  nations,  slowly  wise  and  meanly  just. 
To  buried  merit  raise  the  tardy  bust. 


JUVENAL  AND  HIS  MODERN  IMITATORS.     159 


If  dreams  yet  flatter,  once  again  attend, 
Hear  Lydiat's  life,  and  Galileo's  end." 

We  can  hardly  resist  the  impression  that  it  is  to  him- 
self that  Johnson  is  here  alluding,  especially  in  the 
lines  beginning  with  "  Should  no  disease," — lines  that 
feelingly  tell  of  his  own  ill-health  and  many  privations, 
of  the  despondency  that  continually  checked  his  re- 
liance on  himself,  and  the  melancholy  fear  of  death 
against  which  he  so  often  and  so  earnestly  strove  in 
vain.  In  any  case  he  has  here  this  advantage  over 
Juvenal,  that  he  describes  scenes  and  events  that  came 
under  his  own  observation.  He  does  not,  like  the 
Roman,  write  on  themes  that  had  long  since  become 
the  commonplace  of  every  ambitious  poetaster,  a  sub- 
ject of  declamation  in  all  the  schools  of  Rome.  The 
same  advantage  in  the  choice  of  his  examples  still 
stands  Johnson  in  good  stead  when  he  illustrates  the 
vanity  of  military  success  and  of  the  warrior's  fame  by 
the  ruin  and  death  of  Charles  of  Swjeden.  That  prince, 
to  whose  marvellous  victories  and  still  more  portentous 
ruin  Europe  still  paid  the  tribute  of  terror  or  of 
admiration,  was  as  yet  a  name  of  power  to  evoke  the 
wonder  and  the  sympathy  of  men.  When  Juvenal 
wrote,  three  hundred  years  of  eventful  history  had 
elapsed  since  the  battle  of  Zama,  and  the  memory  of 
the  day  when  Rome  had  trembled  before  the  armies  of 
Hannibal  was  now  scarcely  sufficiently  distinct  to 
thrill  with  real  emotion  the  heart  of  any  citizen  of  the 
Empire.  Juvenal  has  also  here  this  additional  diffi- 
culty to  overcome  :  patriotism  would  not  allow  him 
to  dwell  on  the  great  victories  of  Hannibal  over  the 


160 


JUVENAL. 


Iionians,  thonprh  the  contrast  that  he  might  have  thus 
hroiijrlit  out  would  liave  ad<]ed  much  in  dramatic  in- 
terest to  tlie  tale  of  his  defeat  and  inglorious  death. 
Johnson  was  liampered  by  no  such  scruples;  and  for 
loftiness  of  thought  and  majesty  of  diction,  the  lines 
in  which  he  describes  the  brief  though  brilliant  career 
of  the  ill-starred  monarch,  have  seldom  been  surpassed. 
The  whole  passage  is  well  worth  quoting. 

"On  what  foundation  stands  the  warrior's  pride, 
How  just  hi.^  hopes,  let  Swedish  Charles  decide  ; 
A  frame  of  adamant,  a  soul  of  tire, 
No  dan<;ers  fri*,dit  him,  and  no  labours  tire  ; 
O'er  love,  o'er  fear,  extends  his  wide  domain, 
Uncoucpiered  lord  of  i)leasure  and  of  pain  ; 
No  joys  to  him  pacific  sceptres  yield, 
War  sounds  the  trump,  he  rushes  to  the  field ; 
Behold  surrounding  kings  their  powers  combine, 
And  one  capitulate,  and  one  resign  ; 
Peace  courts  his  hand,  but  spreads  her  charms  in  vain  ; 
*  Think  notliing  gained,'  he  cries,  'till  nouglit  remain, 
On  Moscow's  walls  till  Gothic  standards  lly, 
Ai  d  all  be  mine  beneath  the  polar  sky.' 
The  march  begins  in  mib^ary  state. 
And  nations  on  his  eye  suspended  wait ; 
Stern  Famine  guards  the  solitary  coast, 
And  winter  barricades  the  realms  of  Frost ; 
He  comes,  nor  want  nor  cold  his  course  delays- 
Hide,  blusliing  Glory,  hide  Pultowa's  day  : 
The  vanquished  hero  leaves  his  broken  bands, 
And  shows  his  miseries  in  distant  lands  ; 
Condemned,  a  needy  supplicant  to  wait, 
Wliile  ladies  interpose  and  slaves  debate. 
But  did  not  Chance  at  length  her  error  mend  ? 
Did  no  subverted  empire  nuirk  his  end  \ 


JUVENAL  AND  HIS  MODERN  IMITATORS.     161 

Did  rival  monarchs  give  the  fatal  wound  ? 
Or  hostile  millions  press  him  to  the  ground  ? 
His  fall  was  destined  to  a  barren  strand, 
A  petty  fortress,  and  a  dubious  hand  ; 
He  left  a  name,  at  which  the  world  grew  pale, 
To  point  a  moral  or  adorn  a  tale." 

In  the  remainder  of  the  poem  there  is  a  distinct 
falling  off  from  the  high  standard  that  Johnson  has 
here  reached ;  and  Juvenal  has  everywhere  the  advan- 
tage over  his  imitator,  in  the  general  train  of  thought 
and  the  vividness  of  his  illustrations,  no  less  than^'in 
the  grace  and  dignity  of  his  language.     The  picture  of 
the  helpless   and  imbecile  grey-beard,  in  which   he 
would  show  how  vain  and  foolish  is  the  oft-repeated 
prayer  for  length  of  days,  ha^  never  been  surpassed 
for  graphic  power.     No  less  vivid  and  life-like  is  the 
description   of  the   Hl-omened   marriage  of  SiHus  to 
Messalina— a  warning  to  mothers,  terri[fie  in  its  awfiU 
catastrophe,  that  a  prayer  granted  to  the  fuU  is  but 
too  often  a  cruel  curse.    Once  at  least  had  that  beauty 
that  is  so  earnestly  desired  .for  every  chHd  hurri^^d  its 
unfortunate  possessor  to  a  sjiameful  and  untimely  end. 
Yet  his  death,  though  early,  came  too  late  to  save  a 
noble  name  from  the  stain  of  guilt.     Himself  married 
he  did  not  shrink  to  marry  CaBsar's  wife  in  the  face  of 
Eome  and  of  the  sun,  and  to  become  an  actor  in  a 
crime  that  was  before   unknown  even  in  the  gmlty 
Court  of  Rome.     We  have  elsewhere  given  Juvenal's 
description  of  this  scene.    In  the  place  of  this  thrilling 
episode,  Johnson  can  offer  us  only  a  coUection  of  trite 
A.  c.  vol.  xiii 


162 


JUVENAL. 


commonplaces   on   the  lonesomeness  of  old  age  and 
the  instability  of  female  virtue.     Yet  more;   in  the 
concluding  lines  of  the  poem,  where  Johnson  again 
imitates  Juvenal  more  closely,  and  his  subject  is  the 
efficacy  of  prayer,  and  the  trust  that  we  should  repose 
in  a  kind  and  omniscient  Deity,  Johnson  has  failed 
to  approach  the  lofty  precepts  and  the  truly  religious 
tone  of  the  heathen  moralist.      The  one  couplet  of 
the  entire  passage  that  is  most  adequate  to  the  sub- 
ject is  an  almost  literal  translation  of  two  lines  of 
Juvenal ;  and  we  seek  in  vain  for  any  traces  of  that 
superiority  in  this  respect  which  we  would  naturally 
have  been  led  to  expect  from  one  who  wrote  from  the 
vantage-ground  insured  to  him  by  a  knowledge  of  the 
teachi;ig  and  examples  of  Christianity.    On  the  whole, 
however,  in  spite  of  occasional  flaws,  we  may  safely 
assert  that  these  two  imitations  have  reached  a  degree 
of  excellence  rarely  attained  in  works  of  this  descrip- 
tion.   Johnson  seldom  falls  very  far  behind  his  model. 
He  never  allows  himself  to  become  insipid  or  prolix, 
while  sometimes  the  copy  is  decidedly  superior  to  the 
original  itself.    There  is,  indeed,  one  failing  common  to 
both  the  Latin  and  the  English  poet  that  tends  much 
to  obscure  and  even  to  invalidate  the  argument  as  a 
whole.     As  Gibbon  has  clearly  pointed  out,  Juvenal 
altogether  failed  to  draw  the  obvious  distinction  be- 
tween those  apparent  goods,  such  as  warlike  fame  and 
absolute  command,  which  cannot  fail  to  bring  discon- 
tent and  unhappiness  in  their  train,  and  those  which, 
like  length  of  days  or  personal  beauty,  may  well  prove 


JUVENAL  AND  HIS  MODERN  IMITATORS.     163 


a  real  blessing  to  those  to  whose  portion  they  fall,  and 
who  use  them  aright. 

Of  translators,  properly  so  called,  there  are  not  many 
that  will  call  for  notice.  The  Satires  of  Juvenal  do  not 
seem  to  have  attracted,  at  any  rate  not  in  England,  the 
same  attention  that  has  been  bestowed  on  the  writings 
of  Horace.  Whatever  the  reason  may  be,  it  was  not 
till  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century  that  the  two 
versions  edited  by  Barten  Holyday  and  Sir  Kobert 
Stapylton  appeared  almost  contemporaneously.  Of 
the  latter  it  is  not  necessary  to  say  much.  He  was 
little  qualified,  either  as  a  scholar  or  as  a  poet,  to 
do  justice  to  the  task  he  had  undertaken ;  and  his 
volumes  are  now  seldom  read,  never  admired.  The 
translation  of  his  literary  rival  has  had  a  longer  term 
of  existence,  though  it  can  hardly  be  said  that  even 
it  was  ever  reaUy  popular.  Holyday  was  indeed 
deficient  in  some  of  the  qualifications  necessary  to  the 
translator.  What  Dryden  said  of  him  is  true,  that 
the  poetry  of  Juvenal  has  always  escaped  his  grasp, 
and  that  his  version  is  often  more  difficult  to  under- 
stand than  the  original  itself.  His  learning  and  in- 
dustry were  considerable,  but  the  object  he  aims  at  is 
one  which,  from  its  very  conditions,  it  is  impossible 
to  reach ;  and  his  attempt  to  give  a  word-for-word 
translation  in  rhyme  has  met  with  the  failure  that 
might  have  been  foreseen  to  be  its  inevitable  result. 
As  an  example  of  the  style  in  which  he  wrote,  we  here 
give  a  few  lines  from  the  10th  Satire  describing  the 
fall  of  Sejanus.   These  may  be  compared  with  Gifford'a 


164 


JUVENAL. 


rendering  of  the  same  passage  that  we  have  quoted 
elsewhere : — 

"  Hark,  the  fires  snap  !  the  rout's  adored  head  lacks 
Nor  blast  nor  furnace  :  huge  Sejanus  cracks  ! 
Of  the  world's  second  face  are  formed  strange  matters, 
Water-pots,  basins,  fr}'ing-pans,  and  platters  ! 
Crowned  be  the  doors  with  bays  !  a  bull,  chalk-white 
And  large,  led  to  Jove's  Capitol !    0  sight ! 
Sejanus  dragged  !  O  joy  !  his  lips,  his  wan 
Face  saw  y'  ?    Believe't,  I  never  loved  the  man." 

And  this  is  neither  better  nor  worse  than  his  aver- 
age manner  throughout  the  volume.  Of  his  Notes  and 
Illustrations  we  must  speak  far  more  highly ;  and  at 
the  period  when  they  were  published  they  were  looked 
on  as  a  contribution  of  considerable  importance  to- 
wards the  elucidation  of  the  Latin  poets.  Yet  even 
here,  it  is  the  matter  far  more  than  the  manner  in 
which  it  is  expressed  that  calls  for  admiration;  and 
the  same  absence  of  taste,  and  of  ear  for  harmony  of 
sound,  is  everywhere  conspicuous.  It  is  amusing  to 
turn  from  his  forced  rhymes  and  halting  prose  to  his 
preface,  where  he  excuses  at  some  length,  though  not 
apparently  Avithout  a  certain  amount  of  complacency, 
his  own  flirtation  with  the  Muses.  *'  As  for  publish- 
ing poetry,"  he  writes,  "it  needs  no  defence,  there 
being  a  divine  rapture  in  it,  if  my  Lord  Verulam's 
judgment  shall  be  admitted."  In  spite,  however,  of 
the  claim  that  Holyday  thus  urges  for  the  indulgence 
that  is  granted  to  the  poet,  it  is  clear  that  he  wrote 
rather  for  the  convenience  of  the  scholar  than  for  the 


JUVENAL  AND  HIS  MODERN  IMITATORS.     165 

entertainment  of  the  general  reader,  who  indeed  very 
soon  turns  with  disgust  from  the  inartistic  rhymes 
and  ill-constructed  sentences  in  which  are  united  all 
the  disadvantages  of  rugged  prose  and  of  still  more 
rugged  verse.  In  spite,  then,  of  the  learning  and 
industry  displayed  by  the  accomplished  archdeacon,  a 
new  version  of  Juvenal  was  liefore  long  demanded,  or 
at  all  events  welcomed,  by  the  public. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  seventeenth  century  Dryden 
was  absolute  dictator  of  the  literary  world,  and  a  new 
translation  was  published  under  his  auspices.  This 
work,  supported  by  his  authority  and  the  reputation 
that  he  then  enjoyed,  met  with  a  considerable  share  of 
popularity.  Dryden  himself  translated  the  1st,  the  3d, 
the  6th,  and  the  10th  Satires,  besides  an  introductory 
essay  of  some  considerable  length,  written  in  the 
form  of  a  dedication  to  the  Earl  of  Dorset  of  his 
day,  in  which  he  takes  occasion  to  review  the  history 
and  the  scope  of  satire.  In  spite,  however,  of  the 
conspicuous  position  which  Dryden  then  held,  and  of 
his  high  character  as  a  poet,  the  merits  of  the  volume 
were  not  great.  The  lines,  indeed,  are  often  power- 
ful and  sonorous,  and  almost  always  correct,  while  the 
finer  passages  seldom  fail  to  leave  a  distinct  impression 
on  the  mind.  The  general  style,  though  by  no  means 
equal  either  in  force  or  elegance  to  that  of  Dryden's 
original  poetry,  is  terse  and  vigorous ;  and  if  the 
expressions  are  sometimes  familiar,  or  even  coarse,  the 
interest  is  never  allowed  to  flag,  and  every  page  is 
enlivened  by  the   play  of  wit  and  the  ornament  of 


166 


JUVENAL, 


epigram  or  antithesis.  Nevertheless,  no  one  who 
reads  these  satires  but  will  feel  that  they  in  some  sort 
fail  to  satisfy  the  expectations  that  he  might  justly 
have  indulged.  When  the  greatest  master  of  English 
satire  set  himself  the  task  of  translating  into  his  own 
language  the  works  of  the  first  satirist  of  Rome,  we 
should  have  grounds  for  expecting  that  tho  result 
would  be  a  volume  of  no  slight  merit ;  that  it  would 
take  a  high,  if  not  the  highest,  place  among  works  of 
that  description,  especially  when  we  remember  that 
Dryden  excelled  far  more  in  command  of  language 
and  delicacy  of  judgment  than  in  any  peculiar  gift  of 
imagination  or  fancy.  Who,  one  is  tempted  to  ask, 
more  fit  than  the  founder  of  the  English  critical  school 
of  poetry  to  excel  in  a  task  in  which  perfection  must 
be  attained  far  more  by  practised  skill  in  versification, 
and  a  nice  discrimination  in  the  choice  of  expressions, 
than  by  any  of  the  rarer  and  more  precious  gifts  of 
the  inspired  poet?  A  luxuriant  imagination  might 
indeed  make  a  translator  impatient  of  the  trammels 
cast  on  him  by  the  necessity  of  following  closely  his 
original,  and  thus  render  him  pro  tanto  a  less  com- 
petent workman  than  one  far  inferior  to  him  in  poetic 
genius. 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  these  great  and  obvious 
qualifications,  both  positive  and  negative,  Dryden  has 
not  even  attained  that  degree  of  success  which  would 
seem  to  be  within  the  reach  of  many  men  of  but  sliglit 
literary  capacity.  This  failure  is  due  in  part,  at  least, 
to  an  inadequate  conception  of  the  end  that  a  trans- 


JU VENAL  AND  UIS  MODERN  IMITATORS.     167 

lator  ought  to  propose  to  himself.     Until  the  time  of 
Dryden,  there  had  scarcely  been  any  English  render- 
ings of  the  poets  of  Greece  and  Rome  that  would  in 
the  present   day  meet  with  the   slightest   degree  of 
applause.      Some  writers,  like  Holyday,  had  rendered 
success  impossible  for  themselves  by   attempting  an 
exactly  literal  translation  into  rhymmg  verse.     Others, 
such  as  Cowley,  mistook  licence  for  liberty,  and  barely 
imitated  the  poems  which  they  professed  to  translate. 
Dryden  himself  was  in  some  danger  of  faUing  into  this 
latter  error.     He  saw  clearly  the  faultiness  of  Holy- 
day's  version,  and  was  himself,  as  he  distinctly  tells 
us,  ready  to  sacrifice  the  scholar  to  the  poet  whenever 
it  should  seem  to  him  impossible  to  seize  at  once  both 
the   exact   meaning   and   the   poetry  of  his   author. 
"  The  common  way  we  have  taken,"  he  says,  speaking 
of  himself  and  his  colleagues  in  the  undertaking,  "  is 
not  a  literal  translation,  but  a  kind  of  paraphrase  ;  or 
somewhat,  which  is  more  loose,  between  a  paraphrase 
and  an  imitation." 

The  least  pleasing  form  of  all  in  which  this  licence 
shows  itself  is  the  laxity  into  which  Dryden  has  only 
too  often  permitted  himself  to  fall,  of  using  terms 
that  must  necessarily,  by  then-  meaning  and  their 
associations,  call  up  a  train  of  modern  ideas  quite  alien 
to  any  that  could  have  presented  themselves  to 
Juvenal's  mind.  For  example,  such  lines  as — 
"  When  he  dares  hope  a  coloners  command ;" 

or — 

«  Board-wages  and  a  footman's  livery;" 


168 


J V  VENAL, 


or  again — 

'*  A  hundred  hungry  slaves  with  their  Dutch-kitcheni 

wait;" 
or — 

"  A  third  is  charmed  with  the  new  opera  notes  ; " 
or — 

"  The  ghostly  sire  forgives  the  wife's  delights/' — 

can  hardly  be  accepted  as  representing  any  form  of 
Roman  thought.  So,  again,  to  translate  Porticvs  by 
the  Mall,  or  Seres  by  France,  is  to  hurry  the  reader 
over  twenty  centuries  of  time,  from  the  Rome  of 
Domitian  to  the  London  of  the  Restoration.  In 
spite  of  these  failings,  however,  Dryden's  version  is  in 
some  ways  the  best  that  we  have  in  the  English 
language ;  at  all  events,  it  has  the  merit  of  having 
been  written  by  a  true  poet.  The  more  modem 
translations  of  Gifford  and  Hodgson  have  this  merit, 
that  they  follow  the  Latin  text  more  faithfully  than 
any  previous  attempts.  Both  of  them  bear  the  traces 
of  careful  and  accurate  study,  and  the  scholarship  of 
both  is  thoroughly  sound ;  while  the  versification,  if 
not  always  of  the  highest  class,  is  always  elaborated 
with  diligence,  and  seldom  sins  against  the  maxims  of 
good  taste.  They  may  be  read  and  appreciated  both 
by  the  scholar  and  by  those  who  can  hope  for  no 
closer  acquaintance  with  the  writings  of  JuvenaL 
Still,  neither  the  one  nor  the  other  has  reached 
that  high  standard  of  excellence  which  we  have  now 
been  taught  to  expect.  No  one  has  yet  done  for 
Juvenal  what  the  late  Professor  Conington  did  for 
Virgil,  or  Lord  Derby  for  the  Iliad  of  Homer.     Till 


JUVENAL  AND  HIS  MODERN  IMITATORS.     169 

such  a  translation  shall  appear,  the  English  reader 
must  perforce  be  contented  with  an  imperfect 
acquaintance  with  him,  whose  verse — to  use  words 
applied  to  Cowper  and  Johnson — 

"  May  claim — grave,  masculine,  and  strong — 
Superior  praise  to  the  mere  poef  s  song." 


END   OP  JUVENAL. 


•>4^ 


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